Among Saviours and Rogues
by Karmaisms
Summary: Almost a decade later, things have changed. There is no more Young Justice, and the Justice League has seemingly made the world a better place. A.R.G.U.S is dreaded, villains are rising once again, and many are disappearing. It will take a new team to put a stop to the increasing danger, but another team created by villains will decide who will win or lose the battle.
1. Prologue

**_21:10 (TIMEZONE UNKNOWN)_**

 ** _JLA Watchtower_**

Peace: it was all that the Justice League had wanted. Thanks to the efforts of Young Justice, the Justice League, and even the unspoken acts of the Suicide Squad, it was as if the villains of the world crawled back into the shadows, forever gone from the spotlight and society.

Wally was gone.

Bruce was no longer the Batman.

Clark left the Justice League entirely.

Everyone went on to lead normal lives, but with the pardoning of many villains and mercenaries, tensions arose, and the disbandment of Young Justice came into question. A meeting was called, and while many former Justice League members refused to become involved yet again with what they called 'politics', but two decided to continue with the meeting. Bruce wasn't the man he once was, he was aging like everyone else, but a case of emphysema forced him to retire from being Batman. He knew that questions would be asked when his former _colleagues_ saw him walking with a cane, but it was for his own sake... and because his Doctor had urged him to.

Was it the gravity that cleared his lungs? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but in the Watchtower, Bruce could breath a lot easier. As he walked down the hallway, voices from the main hub grew louder, but Bruce was confused when he heard an unfamiliar voice, one that sounded a bit robotic. The former 'Bat Vigilante' of Gotham had a bit of a problem with robots...

 _"Slade Wilson was just pardoned by Senator Ezekiel, Mr. Kent,"_ said Bruno, the Watchtower's newest AI, _"Harleen Frances Quinzel, Waylon Jones, Lex Luthor, Anatoli Knyazev, and Baran Flinders are just five out of ten to be released from various prisons."_

"Ezekiel may be popular among the people, but releasing these people into the public is just too dangerous," Clark spoke, "Nobody can go after any of them; they've been given a full pardon and immunity. I can't even believe that anyone would agree to this..."

 _"I've been watching Anatoli for a few days. So far, he's been going from bank to bank collecting money, and no robberies have been reported, "_ Bruno spoke, _"Waylon and Harleen have disappeared from our radar, Lex is currently in South Africa, and we've tracked Baran as well, he seems to be in New York."_

"What about Deathstroke?" Bruce questioned, "Bruno, you're not hiding any info from me, are you?"

 _"Of course not, Mr. Kent,"_ said the AI, and the computer terminals flickered, images of Slade appearing on the blue screen, _"...This is... unusual. I cannot seem to locate him at the moment. Somehow, he found and deactivated his subdermal implant."_

 _"See? You can never trust a bad guy,"_ said Bruce, sitting back in his chair, _"Can't we do something about this?"_

"Not unless you want to deal with a big-shot Senator and the government, _Superman_ ," Bruce interrupted, immediately taking a seat. He was met with silence and staring, Clark surprised to see that Bruce was still alive and kicking. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "I came for a serious meeting, not an interview about my health."

"We're just a little shocked to see you in the Watchtower again, friend," said Clark, adjusting his glasses, "It's good to have someone from the old team here. Everyone else decided to skip out."

Clark was now a full-time journalist, and since Conner became the new protector of Metropolis, Superman was just vulnerable, glasses-wearing Clark Kent from Smallville, and getting shot at in places such as Morocco was a part of his life of traveling for interviews. His powers, for some strange reason, had started to weaken after a while, so wearing glasses was becoming a normal thing for the Kryptonian. He still wore his clothes from work; a plain and simple shirt with a tie, somewhat frayed pants, and his shoes were dusty, a bit of mud covering the heel.

Bruce, on the other hand, looked a bit unkempt. The stress started affecting him just months ago, and the sides of his hair were streaked gray, and wrinkles in his skin began to show. He wasn't the man he used to be, and adjusting to the boring life of a CEO... it just wasn't his style. Since the meeting had been called early, Bruce was at a fundraiser when an alarm on his phone sounded, so he arrived to the Watchtower wearing what seemed like a $800 suit, a black trench coat, and, of course, the cane he could barely walk without.

 _"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne,"_ Bruno greeted, _"I was originally created by Barbara Gordon, but I wasn't completely finished until June of 2017. I act as a caretaker for the Watchtower, but my systems have yet to be fully operational."_

"He's my eyes and ears, that's for sure," said Clark, "Bruno and I have been talking, and I think it's time we talk about the initiative."

It only took Bruce a second to realize what Clark was saying. " _The_ initiative, Clark?"

"Yes, _that_ initiative," Clark groaned, leaning against the terminal, "With people such as Deathstroke roaming the streets, some diplomat is bound to end up dead within weeks, maybe days. Bruno," he turned his attention to the AI, "Any updates?"

"Nothing suspicious... yet," Bruno sighed, proving that his range of emotions had not been limited, "I am still waiting to contact those responsible for the candidates. All I need is permission... so I can't get blamed for waking someone up at 4:20 AM."

"Hmph, Artificial Intelligence with a sense of humor. Just what we needed," a hint of sarcasm was in Bruce's voice, "Bruno, show me who and _what_ the candidates are. Background, possible criminal history, relationships, I- we'd like to see all of it."

At first, the screen glitched, the AI hesitating to dig through and decrypt personal and private files. Videos popped up onto the large screen, followed by photos from school yearbooks, documents from hospitals, birth certificates, and both past and current residences of these new candidates. It was going to be tough to persuade their parents about letting their children, their own flesh and blood, into becoming a part of the new Young Justice.

If luck was on their side, Bruce and Clark could pull some strings, ask a few old friends to mentor their possible new proteges. There was nothing impossible about this task, but it was going to take a few months to prepare.

" _There's an old compound located in South Korea. It belonged to a dissolved Splinter Group, but according to gathered intel, it should be empty and undetectable to enemies,"_ said Bruno, images of an underground facility presented on-screen, _"Shall we begin preparations, Mr. Kent? Mr. Wayne?"_

* * *

 _ **24:00 PST  
**_ _ **Daleko Hills, Star City, North America**_

The Knyazev compound was no simple home, but a fortress, one guarded by hired guns. Anatoli was a man of business, someone who would only resort to violence when needed. If a client decided to befriend a Police Detective, said client would become a liability, and Anatoli had two choices: deal with the issue himself, or call a few good friends to deal with a pest problem.

In the case of Detective O'Dwyer of the Star City Police, Anatoli considered him to be just one of many loose ends to tie, and even as a Detective who received $6,000 more than his original salary, he was a liar, a man whose loyalty came into question one too many times. The sounds of fists hitting flesh emanated from the basement, guards who stood guard somewhat disturbed by what they were hearing. O'Dwyer hung from a meet hook, his hands going numb thanks to the rope constricting his wrists. Every time the brass knuckles had hit him, purple, blotchy bruises would form after each blow, and blood would spill from his mouth.

"I thought you knew better, Darwin," Anatoli spoke, setting the brass knuckles on a small tray, "I give you plenty of money, and you get the idea to go to _commissioner_? Oh no, we can't have that."

He slapped O'Dwyer a few times, not wanting the junior Detective to go unconscious.

 _"Вы, американцы никогда не узнать, будете ли вы?"_ he spoke in his native tongue, "You're going to hang here for a while, so consider this a quick break from our _session_. If you want, feel free to piss your pants anytime. It just gives me another reason to beat you."

As Anatoli removed the blood soaked apron he wore, O'Dwyer began to sob, tears streaming down his face. Even as a junior Detective, he was still a young man, and he wasn't prepared to deal with the Russian Mafia. Fortunately for him, Anatoli's crisp white shirt and pants were clean, not a single speck of blood found on his clothes.

If his clothes would have gotten bloodied, O'Dwyer would be dead already.

 _"Есть некоторые люди, которые ждут наверху,"_ Andrei, one of the younger guards, spoke to Anatoli, _"Должен ли я сказать им подождать?"_

 _"Нет. Дай мне минуту,"_ Anatoli replied, _"Часы О'Двайер в то время как я уйду. Я не хочу, чтобы он пытается убежать."_

Andrei nodded, and stood aside as Anatoli went upstairs.

The house wasn't exactly a mansion, but the interior of the home was well-decorated, and while Anatoli spent a year or two in prison, everything was kept clean. Even with his dogs, Koshmarik and Bolshoi- two meat-eating, hulking Doberman Pinschers- running around in the compound, not a single vase, glass, or picture frame was knocked down.

The Russian mafioso was surprised to hear playful yips instead of vicious growling, and when he entered the living room, he set his eyes on the scaly, crocodilian giant of a man, a _beast,_ who sat on the sofa, letting Bolshoi nip and bite at his fingers. Killer Croc hadn't seen a single animal in quite a while, and the last time he saw dogs, he was being chased by two Bloodhounds.

"Control your _pets_ , Knyazev," Slade complained, a tired Koshmarik sleeping at his feet, "I'm no fan of man-eating canines."

"Oh, please. They are sweet dogs, my friend. They wouldn't even hurt a child," Anatoli lightly chuckled, flicking lint from his shoulder, "Unless you tempt them with meat, then they will **bite**."

"Exactly why Auntie told me not t'mess with no dogs," Croc commented, "Had t'keep m'self from killin' Sheriff's hounds, too. Little miss cat-lady over there **hates** big pups."

"I have my reasons for _disliking_ dogs. I'm more of a cat person," Selina said with a smirk, heels clicking against the hardwood floor, "I'd never thought I would see the owner of this house. A clean cut, sober, Russian mafioso straight out of prison? I expected you to look like a complete mess, 'Toli."

"Metahuman blood and plenty of rest is the key to healing burnt skin," Anatoli explained as he sat down, "My right arm, however, isn't what it used to be. The skin is still trying to heal, but with the lack of Metahumans in this part of the area, it isn't easy to acquire a fresh supply of blood."

"Should've stayed in Gotham, then. You never know who or what you can find, Knyazev!" said a voice in the kitchen, "Turn on the lights while your at it, friend. Can't see shit in here..."

With a snap of his fingers, the lights in the back kitchen activated, revealing two other figures. Roman Sionis, the newly crowned crime king of Gotham, and Blockbuster, who had kept an inhibitor collar around his neck, keeping the mutated beast's violent urges at bay.

"So, four of my former cellmates _and_ an almost legendary thief in **my** home? This makes me very, _**very**_ happy," said Anatoli, "I'm going to guess Mr. Desmond cannot talk yet?"

"...Ba... Barelyyyy..." Blockbuster's deep voice boomed, causing Koshmarik to skulk out of the room, "I... am only heeree... to restaart... the P-Project..."

"I'm only here to see Wayne **_d_ _ead_** ," said Roman, his arms crossed, "I got eyes and ears everywhere, not just inside Gotham, y'know. A friend of mine in the GCPD says the Commissioner's daughter is working with someone named Bruno. Problem: Bruno is no guy, he _is_ the ghost in a machine, _and_ he's working with two people: the superhuman alien from space, and the bat."

Slade crushed the glass in his hand, pieces embedded in his skin. Apparently, the mercenary was getting rather sick of hearing about a former target's accomplishments. Either that, or he remembered the day when Barbara had gotten lucky, escaping the bullet from his rifle.

"See? _Everyone_ is under stress here," Selina quipped, "But, some of us can't eat raw, human flesh... or create Superboy."

"Why do you think I called the five of you here?" Anatoli's voice was raised, "If somebody decides to create a new Young Justice team, we'll be in definite trouble. Besides, a few of us in here have tendencies to steal, kill, and assassinate. We don't want to be caught, do we? Like Papa always used to tell me: always fight fire with fire."

"So, you want us to find some gullible kids, train them, and turn them into some Anti-Young Justice team?" Roman cocked an eyebrow.

"Exactly! But, we don't want just anyone," Anatoli advised, "We need the strongest, the deadliest, and if possible, the maddest of all people. We need at least a month or so to prepare as well. If you're impatient, you can use whatever means necesary to get a 'sidekick' or 'protege'."

"I know Ivy will want to get in on the action," said Selina.

Croc growled, "Gonna take me some strength and will power to find someone and... not take a chunk outta 'em."

"It'll be easy. I'm sure someone will wanna cause some anarchy for once," Roman spoke, "Who knows, maybe I'll get one of the guys to do the job for me."

Blockbuster could only mumble gibberish words, his speech still limited. Slade, however, remained silent, a slight smirk on his face. So, this was Anatoli's plan? To create an Anti-Young Justice? Slade was torn; he wanted to get his revenge for botched assassinations, but training someone, especially if they were stubborn.

"Doin' okay, Slade?" Croc asked, curious to know what Slade was thinking about.

"Better than ever," said Slade, sarcasm in his voice, "I think I've already overstayed my welcome."

He simply got up, and much to the confusion of the others, he left, walking down the dimly lit hall. Slade entered the atrium, and activated the comm-earpiece hidden in his right ear, one that managed to stay out of sight from everyone else.

"22-Actual, this is Deathstroke," he kept his voice low, not looking for unwanted attention, "Get me access to the A.R.G.U.S database. It's time for someone else to be the new Deathstroke."

 _"Copy that, Deathstroke. We'll have access to the database within an hour or so,"_ 22-Actual replied _,_ _"We heard the entire meeting, too. Knyazev is creating some sort of Young **Injustice**? Deathstroke, if this is true-"_

"I'd appreciate it if you people at Caelum would stay out of my private matters," Slade hissed, "I'm no good guy, so don't expect me to stop this from happening."

 _"So, no calling Waller about this?"_

"You're about to hack into the database of A.R.G.U.S, 22. Do you think telling her would help?"

 _"Sorry, Deathstroke. We'll make sure Waller doesn't find out about it. Telling her **would** void your contract," _said 22, _"We'll get back to you ASAP. Standby for updates."_

"I have nothing but time," the mercenary said, adjusting the strap of his eyepatch, "And I'm only doing this for the $20,000,000, nothing else..."

* * *

 _A/N: Ah, yes. Young Justice: the one show I used to watch when I was... maybe, 9? It was somewhere around there. But, hello there! I am Karmaisms! Some of you already know me for my other (somewhat) successful story, The New Era. Well, after binge watching Young Justice with my friends, I decided to work on this new story: Among Saviors and Rogues._

 _It takes place 8 to 9 years after the original events of Young Justice, and, just to bring you up to speed, here is some info on what has happened so far!_

 _ **-Young Justice is disbanded, and many members of the Justice League, including core members such as Hal Jordan/Green Lantern, Arthur Curry/Aquaman, leave the league entirely.**_

 _ **-Slade Wilson, known as Deathstroke- one of the world's top mercenaries- is sent to Blackgate Prison for the attempted assassination of Barbara Gordon, the daughter of GCPD Commissioner James Gordon. Slade is sentenced to 28 years to life, but his sentence is commuted to only 10 years with no possible parole.**_

 _ **-A.R.G.U.S is officially designated as a 'covert operations' by the United States Government, and those working with the organization are given the freedom to detain both Metahumans and Humans with/without cause for arrest, causing controversy among the public.**_

 _ **-A sudden and unexpected lung disease prevents Bruce Wayne from performing his duties as Batman, and crime begins to surge in Gotham City. Nightwing and Red Hood are tasked with bringing down the rate of crime, but with the prison breakout of Arkham, catching criminals such as the Joker and Penguin are now a greater challenge.**_

 _ **-The City of Atlantis surfaces between the North and South Atlantic Ocean. Aquaman's disappearance fuels the hatred between the newly reformed A.R.G.U.S and Atlanteans, prompting the United States government to temporarily ban citizens of Atlantis from coming ashore.**_

 _More will be revealed in future chapters, but, now you know what's happened so far... As usual, here are the RULES:_

 ** _-No Mary-Sue/Gary-Stu OCs! Nobody is perfect; everyone has flaws and fears. Not everyone is born with white hair or multicolored eyes._**

 ** _-I'm looking for 7 members for Young Justice, and 6 for Young Injustice. The youngest an OC should be is 15, and the age limit is 19. No exceptions._**

 ** _-Submissions should be titled 'ASaR: (Insert Character Name, Age, and Codename). Put your favorite DC superhero's name at the bottom of your finished OC sheet, and this is to tell me that you have read the rules._**

 ** _-There is no deadline, actually. Once I get enough OCs, the SYOC will be closed. I also expect to hear from/receive reviews from the people who submit OCs, and those who are just reading the story. Constructive criticism is okay, too. It helps me with my writing, and lets me know how I need to improve it, too!_**

 ** _-Remember, A.R.G.U.S is officially a main antagonist of this story. So, your OC, a relative of your OC, or someone your OC knows should be affected by A.R.G.U.S..._**

 _Welp, those are the rules. Ah, one more thing! Only one OC per person. It gives others a chance for their OC to be accepted._

 _Hopefully, you enjoyed the prologue! The oc form will be on my profile, along with the number of submissions I have received._

 _I hope to see some submissions in my PM soon! Goodnight, and make sure to stick around for new chapters!_

 _- **Karmaisms**_


	2. 01: Today Is The Day

**_00:01 PST_**

 ** _Incheon, South Korea_**

Things between Humans and Atlanteans were becoming more and more tense. Soo-Yun couldn't risk being on the mainland anymore; if she was lucky enough to avoid the Bay Patrol, she would be able to make it to the outskirts of Akheilos, maybe Japan if she was lucky. There were smaller Atlantean cities as well. Carcinus, Ladon, and Tethys were just a few of the cities, but for Soo-Yun, most of them were too far.

Soo-Yun sat in the cafe, enjoying what would be her last bowl of cereal. She was so used to consuming "human-made" food, and thought of what Atlanteans ate below and above the surface. Her Mother, Thalassa, would always speak of how the food in Poseidonis was _better._ Eating fish wasn't exactly looked down upon, but some Atlanteans were absolutely disgusted with such an idea. Seaweed Soup was meant for colder days, and when Soo-Yun would get sick, Thalassa had to make a whole pot of soup for her daughter. The young woman smiled as she remembered the good days, the **better** days. When she was 17, her Mother had no choice but to go back to Atlantis. Soo-Yun was heartbroken, and it wasn't until a year later when A.R.G.U.S decided to take her Father, Hyun-Ok.

She looked everywhere for him, but after 2 years of searching, there was no sign of him.

"Ma'am, is everything alright?" The waitress asked, glaring down at Soo-Yun, "You've been a little quiet over here. Just checking to make sure nothing was wrong."

"I'm fine," said Soo-Yun, trying her best to cover her gills, "Can I get the check, please?"

The waitress nodded silently, walking off to fetch the check for Soo-Yun.

Something was wrong, she could sense it. People were continuously glancing at her, some stared or glared, and others whispered to each other. What if they had seen her gills? What if someone had called A.R.G.U.S? Maybe they were just staring at her hair? It _was_ dyed pastel pink, which wasn't exactly unusual in Incheon.

Before the waitress could come back, Soo-Yun grabbed her bag and got up, leaving quickly and quietly. While some liked Atlanteans, others despised them, and nowadays, people would be livid if they found that a half-human, half-atlantean was among them. Soo-Yun made her way to the beach, and in the distance she saw five boats, all armed with heavy artillery. 해양 순찰 was written on all four of the boats, and in English, the bold print translated to _Ocean Patrol_.

Tonight, they were ready to shoot whatever moved in the water.

Walking closer towards the water, Soo-Yun sat down on the sand, prepping herself for what was going to be a long, strenuous journey. She took her shoes and socks off, placing them inside of the plastic bag. With a piece of rope, she tied the bag to her ankle, ensuring she wouldn't lose her belongings in the deep sea. When she felt a certain shift in the air, her gills flared, acting as a warning system to alert Soo-Yun of intruders.

Whoever or whatever it was, they caused ripples from under the surface, the middle tip of a Trident exposed for all too see. Rising from the waters, Garth struggled to walk, his injured right leg bandaged in hardened seaweed. The left side of his body had been covered in salve, his gills somewhat bruised and swollen. Garth's appearance had changed drastically; his hair had been cut, no longer tied back like it once was, and he grew in height, easily able to tower over any Atlantean or Human his age.

"Garth?" Not only was Soo-Yun shocked, but she was surprised to see her mentor alive _but_ a bit unwell, "I thought you were in the capital? What happened to you?"

"Using a Hammerhead as a taxi... well... I wouldn't advise for anyone else to do the same," said Garth, seating himself next to Soo-Yun, "Rumors travel fast, Sun. Once I heard that you were planning to leave this place-"

"I can't stay here anymore, Garth," Soo-Yun said, pulling her knees up to her chest, "Mom left, A.R.G.U.S took Dad, and being here in South Korea... it's just too dangerous right now. I was going to Akheilos for a while."

"Akheilos? The strongest of Atlantean Warriors come from that city, but getting there is a challenge. You may not see it, but it's just one of the now-above water cities, and it's well-hidden," Garth explained, "But, those from Akheilos don't exactly _tolerate..._ ah, how should I say this..?"

"They don't like half-breeds," sighed Soo-Yun, "So, my last hope is Japan, huh? I'm a bit rusty when it comes to other languages."

"Which is exactly why I came here to get you," said the Atlantean, "You were only 11 when they were around, but do you remember Young Justice?"

"Do I? Garth, I looked up to Kaldur when I was a kid!" Soo-Yun chuckled, remembering how much of a 'fan-girl' she used to be, "I dreamt of what it would be like to fight alongside the team, you know? I was only 11, though. They wouldn't allow some kid to join Young Justice, would they?"

"The team was made up of nothing but kids, Sun. And they need new blood to protect this world," said Garth, his arms crossed, "It isn't everyday people get an opportunity like this, to join the new team. Bruce wanted me to come and get you."

Soo-Yun's mouth practically fell to the floor, and she swore she could feel her own heart skip a few beats. They wanted her to be on the team? Young Justice? She thought she'd never live to see this day, let alone hear those words come from Garth's mouth.

"You mean the team? _The_ team?" Soo-Yun asked, unable to comprehend what she had just heard, "Garth, I can't believe-"

"You can freak out when we get to Wijjog Base," Garth warned, pointing towards the sea, "If you scream out here, the patrol won't hesitate to shoot."

"Right," the young woman had to calm herself down, "No traveling to Japan, then?"

"No traveling to Japan, Sun," Garth agreed, and he stood up, helping Soo-Yun up from the sand, "Come on. It's going to take a few hours of swimming to get where we're going. No stopping for breaks, either."

* * *

 ** _0900 CDT_**

 ** _Western Canada_**

Every country had their organizations, some were good, but others were... not so likable. The United States had A.R.G.U.S, but Canada had A.T.T.O.C, a group far different from their much hated counterpart. Counterpart? Oh, no, more like **_splinter group_**.

A.T.T.O.C was a government organization, one that wanted to work towards ending tensions between Metahumans and Humans. But, A.T.T.O.C wasn't exactly friendly towards what they called "Metahuman Terrorists", especially the type that threatened to destroy entire towns.

 _"This is Bravo-12! We're pinned down here! We got one massive M.T! It's like some monster straight out of a Godzilla movie!"_ a woman shouted from the other end of the radio, _"M.T has been identified as Blockbuster! It's **not** happy, either! Requesting backup immediately!"_

"Copy that, Bravo. Sending 'Pex down there. ETA... 20 seconds," the Osprey pilot replied, flipping the switches of the flight control systems. "Supes should be handlin' this, but we gotta do this ourselves..." the pilot spoke to himself.

In the Osprey's cargo hold, a teenager sat quietly, playing video games on a portable device. Even though his hair was short, it was disheveled; shades of black and brown roots were mixed, the rest dyed an almost-ice white, styled in a taper fade. His skin was fair, and even for a young man such as himself, he was a bit _leaner_ than most.

 _"Nathan, are you sure your 'uniform' is suitable for your first mission?"_ Dr. Nielsen, Nathan's caretaker and physician, tapped into the young man's earpiece, _"I'm worried it might not withstand Doomsday's attacks, and I-"_

"Doc, I'll be fine! Jeez, you're like my Mom..." Nathan groaned, "Besides, you're the one who said I should appeal to people my age."

Nathan's uniform was... unique. Unlike most heroes, who had the toughest and most durable of armor, he _was_ the armor, and it was as if he came straight out of a skate shop. His shoes were simple black converse, the muted-white shoelaces worn from wear. His beige pants were wrinkled, a supply pack attached to the side of his belt. **ROADIE** was printed on Nathan's blue shirt, and patches covered his vest front to back.

Some called him crazy, others labeled him as an adrenaline-junkie, but most called him **suicidal.** If Canada had a Suicide Squad, he'd definitely be on it.

"Ready, Nate?" asked the pilot, who lowered the cargo hold's door, "You took your cocktail back at base, right? Gotta have those bots in your blood charged up!"

"I know, Jordi!" Nathan had to shout over the alarms, "The Nanidrones are always ready for a fight!"

Nathan stuffed the handheld console in his back pocket, and from his front right pocket, he pulled a pair of goggles out. While getting a running start, Nathan put his goggles on, and jumped from the Osprey, descending into the city of Mammothshead. In the city below, Blockbuster threw whatever he could at A.T.T.O.C forces, absorbing the bullets that hit him. He let out roars of defiance, ripping tanks to shreds.

Flying down at incredible speeds, Nathan's veins began to glow electric blue, and the glow from his eyes filled the inside of his goggles. Steel encased his hands, fusing them together, and turning them into a hydraulics-fueled, dog-sized hammer. Once he reached 100 feet, he brought the hammer back. By 80, he readied himself to swing. As soon as he was right above Blockbuster, the hammer hit the mutated Metahuman with a sickening crack, and sent him flying across the asphalt. Landing with a hard thud, Nathan shook the impact off, ready to battle his first outer-space Alien. As the smoke cleared, Blockbuster rose from the crumbled asphalt, his eyes glowing bright red.

Nathan gulped. "Shit," he muttered, and when the a semi-truck was thrown straight towards him, he created a shield, one that reflected the truck, but Nathan felt the full force of it as well.

" _Nathan, another hit like that could damage your Nanidrones! Watch yourself!"_ screamed Dr. Nielsen, _"Your adrenaline levels are spiking!"_

"I know, Doc! I know!" Nathan shouted, dodging most of Doomsday's projectiles, "Where's Supes when you need him?!"

Blockbuster was agitated, and with just one swing, he sent Nathan hurdling into a truck, the young Metahuman crashing right through the vehicle. He quickly recovered; some cuts and bruises healed almost immediately, but others failed to, blood dripping from his nose, and his right thumb broken.

"C'mon, guys, don't bail on me now..." Nathan spoke to himself, "We gotta have something up our sleeve? A bigger hammer? Sword? A bazooka would be nice right about-"

In split seconds, Nathan's right hand shifted, the microscopic drones inside of him working to create a newer, more improved weapon. The sledgehammer was huge, reminding Nathan of something he had seen in a movie. Occasionally, electricity would spark from the hammer, giving it a blueish-red glow.

"I think I'll call you **MJOLNIR** ," said the young man, getting himself up, "Let's hope this takes down Mr. Atomic McMutant!"

Running as fast as he could, Nathan went right for Blockbuster, and the beast did the same, creating shockwaves as his feet hit the ground. Everyone knew this battle would decide Nate's fate, whether he'd live to see the next day or not. Blockbuster had killed the strongest of people before, and killing one of Canada's youngest heroes was something he wasn't afraid to do, he was eager to get blood on his hands.

But, in this case, it was light's-out for the mutant.

Being hit by MJOLNIR caused a giant pulse, as if the world's biggest church bell had rang. A.T.T.O.C soldiers and civilians covered their ears, unable to withstand the noise. As the smoke cleared, Blockbuster was dazed, a wide, bloodied dent in his skull. It wasn't rare for the beast to stand down when incapacitated, but to be injured by someone other than Superboy, to be beaten by an 17 year-older?

Nathan practically broke the "Only Superheroes Can Fight Aliens" rule, and he wasn't going to ducktape it later.

 **《VIDEO PLAYBACK ENDED》**

 **25.8.12. :: BLOCKBUSTER INCIDENT**

"That was... _interesting_ ," Green Arrow spoke up, nearly blinding when the meeting room's lights activated, "How old is he again?"

"17. He'll be 18 in just a few months," said Captain Tanner, A.T.T.O.C's one of many officers, "Nathan Wade North. Born August 17th, 2008 in the city of Toronto. He and his family moved frequently, but they decided to permanently reside in Washington after Nate was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer."

"How exactly did he survive that?" asked Green Arrow, cocking an eyebrow.

"He was accepted into an experimental program for cancer patients. A fusion of Dr. Shiva Nielsen's Nanidrones and some donated blood from Jaime Reyes was created, and Nathan received injections every 2 to 4 days. Not only did the drones destroy every single cancer cell in his body, but DNA remnants from the Blue Beetle Scarab fused with the Nanidrones, turning Nathan into what we A.T.T.O.C members call Homo Nani."

"Like Homo Magi?" Green Arrow questioned.

"Exactly, but different," said the white-haired Captain, turning the projector off, "So far, there's only 100 Homo Nani in the entire world. Nathan was the second to be discovered."

"I'm going to guess he's still sleeping after the whole Doomsday thing," Green Arrow said, his elbows on the mahogany table, "Or is he off somewhere causing trouble?"

"Nate only goes to the Flatlands on Saturdays and Tuesdays," Tanner noted, "He should back by-"

"I'm back! Hey, Tan, I got some-"

Nate stopped in his tracks, surprised to see Green Arrow, the Green Arrow- Star City's first vigilante and archer extraordinaire- was in A.T.T.O.C HQ.

"Green Arrow?" Nathan spoke, having to keep himself calm, "I got your patch on my vest! See? Right here." Nathan pointed to the arrow patch on his shoulder, the green muted from being in harsh conditions.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr..." Green Arrow waited for Nathan to introduce himself, despite already knowing who he was.

"Nathan North. You can call me Nate, but a lot of people in the area know me as Apex," said the young man, "What's this about, Tan-Man? A.R.G.U.S trying to shut us down or something?"

"It's **_Tanner,_** " the Captain groaned, shaking his head, "It's about the thing we talked about when you were 15, Nate. The Americans want you to be apart of their _secret team_."

"You can thank Blue Beetle for your recommendation, Mr. North," said the archer, a grin on his face, "You're what Batman would call "unfit and reckless", but Blue Beetle says otherwise. I hear you've got quite a swing, huh?"

"The Blue Jays should've hired me years ago," said Nathan, "BB said someone would be coming by to see me. This is about Young Justice, right?"

Green Arrow and Tanner nodded simultaneously.

"Luckily for you, kid, Nielsen lifted the restrictions. You're okay to leave, but you're taking the meds and equipment she gave you," said Tanner, "Including **RAIL**."

"I can take **RAIL** , but my meds? I don't even need them!" the young man argued, only to earn a scowl from Tanner. He nodded, knowing he couldn't argue with A.T.T.O.C's most seasoned Captain. "Jeez, man. Giving me the look, again?" he asked, rubbing his shoulder, "If I have to go to America, I'll go. As long as I get to see the Hall of Justice, I can definitely join the team."

* * *

 ** _TIMEZONE UNKNOWN_**

 ** _The Library of Thoth, COUNTRY/REGION UNKNOWN_**

It wasn't unusual to see royalty walk the halls of Thoth's library, but for someone such as Kahotep, it was rare to see him walk the gold-flaked, history-rich halls. The young prince toured at his leisure, Pharaoh Hounds passing by every few seconds. The tall, pink-nosed dogs acted as protectors of the archives, their beaded collars rattling with each move they made.

Kahotep was more of a feline person himself. Abasi, his Cheetah, wouldn't usually leave his side, but in Thoth's domain, she hunted for the mice that lurked in the tightest of places.

"Ah, the son of Khaldun finally decides to come and study his people's history" Thoth greeted the prince, "You are quite the lucky boy, Kahotep. To have access to this library, a library for Kings and Queens. I thought you were a lost cause, but I was, once again, mistaken."

Thoth himself may have been depicted as the Ibis-headed God, but in actuality, he looked very different. His skin was dark, unmarred, undamaged by any hideous scars. His eyes were the color of the gold, and they continued to sparkle even after what felt like centuries of scribing. White linen was wrapped around Thoth's waist, the vibrant colors and materials of his belt and collar necklace standing out. The hieroglyphics carved into his arm weren't fresh, but old, and Kahotep was curious to know what they translated to.

He was a bit rusty when it came to understanding the old tongue.

"I'm here for Seth's Staff," said Kahotep, "He asked me to fetch it for him."

Thoth frowned, wondering what plan Seth was concocting.

"I may have came from Seth, but Horus is my Father as well. When it comes to dealing with artifacts of incredible power, I would call upon Anubis," Thoth explained, "But, when it comes to dealing with his brother-in-law's most personal of items, my half-brother would rather stay out of this. If Father wants his staff, then I shall take you to it."

" _Shukran_ , Thoth," Kahotep thanked him.

" _'Afwan_ ," replied Thoth, leading Kahotep to the lower chambers, "Follow closely, young one. If those pesky rats decide to pop out, I do need someone to smash their tiny frames for me. I cannot stand to see such revolting, plague-carrying rodents."

Behind him, Kahotep saw Abasi pounce on a mouse, sharp teeth and claws digging right into it's small body.

"I have a feeling that Abasi will handle your pest problems, Thoth," the young man chuckled, "Why do you think Seth wants his staff?"

"Caning, possibly," said Thoth, shivering at the very thought, "You know him, Kahotep. When it comes to his relationship with Father, dominance is always a talked-about issue between the two. I'd rather not think about it."

"Why not?" the prince was curious, and Thoth knew this conversation wasn't going to end

"You see, I am what my Uncle, my Grandmother, and most of my family consider to be an _accident_. So, when Horus was invited to Seth's domain, things went... awry. Too many cups of the strongest wine can lead to some mishaps," said the scribe, "I have two Fathers, Kahotep, and one of them happens to be the God of Violence."

"So, that means they consummated the marriage _before_ there was a wedding?" Kahotep teased, a wide smile on his face.

"Ra help us all if they decide to marry! And if they were to have another child, my _sibling,_ I don't know what I'd do," said Thoth, somewhat exasperated, "Besides, I am already under enough stress for now. My marriage to Seshat has yet to happen. What if she wants a child? How can I take care of my library _and_ a baby?"

"That's something my Father had trouble with. Raising my brothers and I, watching over a Kingdom, and making Mother happy," said Kahotep, continuing to follow Thoth, "Once I receive Seth's Staff, you'll have one less item to worry about, Thoth."

"I worry about many things, Kahotep, including Amazonian Women attacking our growing Kingdom," uttered Thoth, "Humans, however, are creatures I do not worry about."

Thoth led Kahotep to large, shadow-black doors, gold hieroglyphics engraved into the stone slabs. Uttering an ancient language, the doors opened for Thoth, a gust of wind coming from the chamber. The single pathway, one that looked a bit dangerous to walk along, lead to a pedestal. Seth's Staff remained on the gold pedestal, the weapon of war in a dormant state.

"Ugh... Now, we know where Uncle placed the rest of his... _carvings_ ," Thoth groaned, and Kahotep glanced down at the pit of shadows under them.

"What is this place?" asked the prince, staying close to Thoth.

"The chamber in which Seth was born," said Thoth, knowing his Father's history, "He was orphaned when his Mother died at childbirth, and he grew to become Ra's manservant, even protecting him from Apep at one point in his lifetime. This became a sacred place when Seth realized who he truly was: a God. Many have come to this chamber to plead for forgiveness for upsetting Seth, and only a few who have gone to him have lived."

"And the rest?" Kahotep feared the worst.

"In the care of Underworldly Demons," Thoth admitted.

Once they reached the middle of the chamber, Thoth snapped his fingers, light shining down on the pedestal. Seth's Staff turned black as midnight, the gold engravings clean of dust.

"Whatever you do, you mustn't read from the inscriptions," the scribe warned, "This has possessed the most iron-willed of men. When Ra pulled the evil, the hatred from Seth's body, he sealed them inside of the staff. Seth himself has the ability to release these demons, but only for times of war. If you want to ensure your own safety, hold your tongue."

"Of course, Thoth," Kahotep agreed, taking the staff, "I'll be careful."

"Just to make sure, you should take the Ibis with you," Thoth advised, "He is my eyes and my ears. What he sees, I see, so you will be safe with-" Feeling a change in the air, Thoth looked around, and he put a hand on Kahotep's shoulder, "Stay behind me," said the scribe.

"Thoth, what is-"

"Kahotep, get behind me. **_Now_** ," the scribe God hissed, standing in front of the prince. At the doors, a woman stood, surrounded in moving shadows. Somehow, Enchantress traveled from her world, to another. Thoth could sense the evil emanating from her very soul, but even Thoth knew she was only human.

"Who are you?" he questioned, "How did you let yourself into my domain?"

"Simple, really," Enchantress said with a smirk, slowly walking to Thoth and Kahotep, "All the journey requires is a bit of blood magic, human sacrifice optional, and the Amulet of The Accursed."

"How can a mere mortal such as yourself be in possession of a powerful amulet? It was buried almost 10 Dynasties ago," Thoth grew suspicious, ready to summon Ra at a moment's notice, "Speak, mortal. What do you want?"

Enchantress disappeared into smoke, and in the blink of an eye, she had Thoth in her grasp, shadowy tendrils choking the life out of him.

"Hm. Even as a god, you're aren't very _intimidating_ ," said Enchantress, "Although, I wouldn't want to ruin that handsome face of yours. Your wife would probably want you intact..."

Thoth was engulfed in the shadows, transported outside of the chamber. The doors closed, sealing shut from the outside. Kahotep backed up against the pedestal, trying to use the staff to defend himself. What was he supposed to do now? He was no God like Thoth, nor was he bestowed with any powers.

"I think you and I both know you want to live, don't you?" said Enchantress, "Why not be a big boy and read the inscription? You don't have to listen to Thoth, your family, or anybody else. Don't you want to be a King? A **Pharaoh**? You can earn your riches without your Father and Mother."

"W-What are you saying?" Kahotep questioned, making the mistake of lowering his guard, "What do you mean?"

"Wealth, your own Empire to rule over, you'll be a God," Enchantress tempted Kahotep, "Nobody can tell you what to do. You can strike them down where they stand, and others will bow down to you, their one true King."

"I... I..." Kahotep looked at the staff's inscription, and glanced back at Enchantress.

"Wealth... riches," Kahotep spoke to himself, temptation and greed taking a hold of him. Running his fingers over the engravings, he tried his best to read it. He muttered the old language, the air around him beginning to swirl. By the last line of text, his brown eyes soon turned an eerie red, and his hair went from sandy to dark black, shades of brown barely visible. He stumbled, hearing screams of innocent people that nobody else could hear. Kahotep shouted to the top of his lungs, his voice changing, becoming deeper. His hair grew short, he grew in height, and his bones cracked painfully, as if they were moving on their own. Wings sprouted from his back, covered in flesh and blood. The wings were an oak-brown, splotches of grey found on few of the feathers.

Seth's true self had possessed Kahotep, thus dramatically changing his appearance, " ** _Mortal_**. You... you freed me from my prison... It was cramped in there, anyway. This body, _this body..._ I can make Seshat leave that _geek_ of a husband."

"Oh, you can do more than just take Seshat from her husband," Enchantress knew exactly what she had in mind, "How does World Domination sound to you, **Seth**?"

"If it wasn't for my _death_ in 1944, the world would've been mine already," said Seth, "You see, I was once apart of the Pantheon. For my 'good behavior', Nun awarded me with reincarnation, but _Mother_ took everything away just as easily."

"It may be 220 in this world, but in _my_ world, it is the year of 2025. Things have changed, Seth, and you wouldn't believe what it takes to start wars nowadays. Your Pantheon has grown in strength, to a point where most of your friends, your _brothers,_ not to mention a former lover of yours, have gained a great influence over most," Enchantress spoke, "And where were you the whole time? Part of you was locked away in that staff, your _**prison**_. You can accomplish what my brother failed to do."

"Your brother must've been _weak_ ," said Seth, "Trust me, _June_ , I can work things out with the Pantheon."

Enchantress blinked once, curious to know how Seth knew about the _human_ side of her.

"Dhahabi first, then you can take me wherever we need to go. A quick little chat with friends shouldn't hurt... unless someone decides to start trouble," Seth chuckled, "Unless you want to face Thoth and his little gang of hounds, it's best if we talk business in your world."

* * *

 ** _22:00 CTZ_**

 ** _Queen Memorial Hospital, Star City_**

Mira vaguely remembered how she lost her legs. A trip to Northern Africa with her Brother, the amateur treasure hunter, was supposed to go smoothly; without incident, without trouble whatsoever. She went on a tour of the sites, one tour to the desert required an armed guard to go along with her. Mira never knew they were going to be attacked by local insurgents, nor did she know about the 2.11 Million landmines left behind in WWII. Before she went to Egypt, before she landed herself in the hospital, she wanted to help protect the people of her city, she stopped those who wanted to cause violence. She was Neith. _Was._

She sat in the hospital, having to deal with the pain of her amputated legs. Mira remembered stepping on the mine, and after the light and ringing faded away, she found herself chest deep in crimson-colored sand. Being in a wheelchair was something she couldn't handle, she just couldn't. An infection wasn't going to kill her, but the medical bills were.

Even at 10 at night, the lights in Mira's room were already turned off. She wanted to sleep, but memories of that fateful day wouldn't stop replaying in her head. To be honest, she was scared to sleep, wondering if she would even wake up again. Mira sat up in her bed, finding it hard to keep herself up. Using the hairband around her wrist, she tied her hair back, struggling to tie it thanks to the frizziness of it. She got herself out of bed, and into the wheelchair placed next to the railing. Luckily, the wheels were locked in place.

She released the levers, pushing herself over to the open window. Mira looked outside the window, watching car after car drive by the hospital. The sound of the wind blowing by comforted her, almost lulling her to sleep. When the door opened, she spun herself around, ready to confront whoever it was.

"Mira?" Calvin, otherwise known as Talon, walked into the room, a look of worry on his face, "Oh my god, you **_did_** lose them."

"You're late..." Mira groaned, surprised when Calvin picked her up from the wheelchair, nearly forcing the air from her lungs with a hug.

"I'm getting you out of here," said Calvin, placing his protege back into the chair, "Someone can easily slip a sedative cocktail into your IV drip."

"I'll be fine," said Mira, quickly grabbing a blanket before they left, "They've got this place locked down thanks to some-"

"Qurac Diplomat? He's currently in an induced coma," Calvin said, "Not my fault."

"It better not be," she sighed, coughing harshly, "What do you want, anyway? I thought we agreed about that 'professional relationship' thing?"

"You never asked to sign any contract," Calvin quipped, "I have a place set up for you. It's a black site; nobody knows about it. Bruce is paying for everything, including a new pair of legs and-"

"Cal, _ **stop**_ ," Mira raised her voice, forcing Calvin to stay still, "I... I can't. The whole 'being a hero' thing. I can't do that anymore. I can barely hold myself up, it hurts to even **move** the stumps... What can a _Wayne_ do to fix _**this?**_ "

"It's a second chance at life," Calvin spoke, and he leaned down next to Mira, "There's a catch, though. It involves... undercover work."

This was something Mira needed. A chance, and working towards it was something she could work with.

"It's impossible to work without legs, you know," she almost argued, but soon came to an agreement, "Dangerous ground or neutral territory?"

"Both," said the former assassin, his voice lowered, somewhat trembling, "Knyazev is starting something. He's trying to create some sort of counter-team, some sort of reverse-Young Justice. You're already familiar with a few _reversed_ people, aren't you?"

"Too many to count, Cal," for once, Mira had let a laugh slip from her mouth, "Anything else I should know?"

"The people you'll be working with are just kids; some are older, some are younger. They've been trained by some very unlikable and dangerous people, the type I used to deal with," said Calvin, "You need to gain their trust. At the right time, you need to persuade them to leave with you, but doing that too soon can rouse their suspicion."

"What do I- _we_ do after? Find some house to live in? Wait until the heat dies down?"

"Young Justice will be waiting," Calvin said, "First, Young Injustice needs a new member, and playing the 'hero gone bad' role is perfect for this situation."

"...I'm in," Mira spoke up, looking down at what was left of her legs, "18 month retirement after."

"Deal," Calvin agreed, "Let's get you to Gotham, first. Then, we're heading to Bludhaven."

* * *

 _ **14:00 PST**_

 _ **Manchester, England, United Kingdom**_

In England, Ireland, Scotland, there was always an issue with those who preferred to stick to the shadows. In New Zealand and Australia, they'd call the weird and unusual ones _Bogans._ In England, _Chav_ was the slang word for the brash, lower-class people, specifically aimed at the younger generation.

Bowen, being 19 and all, was supposed to be in college by now.

College? Nope. After so many excuses of why he couldn't go, bar-hopping was the only thing he _could_ do for fun.

After what was a long night, Bowen's snoring could be heard throughout his Mother's home. He slept on the sofa, arms and legs sprawled out all over the place. He'd usually sleep in his own bed, but stumbling into the house wasn't something he exactly planned, and he 'mistook' the sofa for his old, sweat-smelling mattress.

"Bowen? Bowen!" his Mother, Sophia, called her son from the kitchen, "You have a visitor!"

At first, Bowen let out a groan, not wanting to even move. When the family cat jumped onto his back, he finally decided to get up, annoyed by how the Calico Cat treated him. Bowen was no scratching post, that was for sure. He took his blanket with him, wrapping it around his shoulders. With just boxers on, Bowen was freezing cold. Sophia would keep it cold 24/7, and how she had the money to pay the electric bills, nobody even knew.

"Mum, if this is about Joe and Leven coming over the other night, _I'll_ pay for the broken vase," Bowen said, rubbing his sore eyes, "I just need some more sleep. You know I sleep in on-"

Bowen was shocked awake when he was forced to sit in a seat. His bloodshot eyes were wide open, his heart rate began to speed up, and when he saw an armed, suit-and-tie, goliath of a man standing next to him, he wanted to know what was going on.

Anatoli sat at the other end of the table, exhaling the smoke from his cigar.

"You really need to teach my nephew to shave, Sophi," said Anatoli, "He is a mess."

"I'm no mess, Russkie. Mum doesn't like strangers blowin' smoke in the house, either," said Bowen, receiving a glare from Sophia "I don't have no Uncle."

"Bowen!" Sophia hissed, threatening to slap her son, "Show some respect for you Uncle Anatoli!"

"It's completely okay, Sophi. He is his Father's son," said the Russian, "Bad attitude, a taste for high priced alcohol, but high respect for Mother. How come a young man like yourself hasn't been sent to military school?"

"Military school wouldn't be able t'handle me," said Bowen, his arms crossed, "Who are 'ya, anyway? Are y'really Mum's brother?"

"Yes, I am," Anatoli said with a grin, "It is a shame. You look absolutely nothing like your Mother."

"Everyone says that, _Uncle,_ " said the young man, "Others say I was adopted."

There weren't many photos of Bowen's Father around the house, and the only picture of him was from a decade ago. Thompson was his name, and from what Sophia had told Bowen, he was a Pilot in the RAF. Every two weeks, he'd let Bowen stay at his home in Kinsale, but this stopped suddenly when Bowen was 15. He hadn't seen his Father since.

When it came to appearances, however, Bowen was definitely his Father's son. The 19 year-older's hair was semi curly, and anyone could easily tell his hair was cut short by the dull blade of an old trimmer. The growing stubble on his face was a lighter shade of oak-brown, a single, reddish-pink cut on his chin visible for all to see. Unlike Sophia's eyes, which were a dark forest green, Bowen's eyes were viridian. Bowen had a wide frame, and Anatoli was surprised to even see muscles on the boy.

"Why are y'here, anyway? Somethin' I did wrong?" asked Bowen, "Wasn't even out last night," he lied.

"Your Mother told me about your little 'pranks'. Where I come from, a man engulfed in _smoke_ is often associated with death," said the mafioso, putting his cigar out, "Tell me, nephew, how long has it been since you last stole from someone?"

"Bowen doesn't steal from anyone!" Sophia exclaimed, wondering if such an accusation was true, "He's not a thief, and those friends of him wouldn't get him to take anything if they tried!"

"Oh, really? You think the jewelry and gold chains behind the TV is from working overtime at his job? Or does he even have a job? You shouldn't even be living in this place! Thompson's family never liked us in the first place!" Anatoli grew upset, "Your son, my nephew, practically knows how to live his own life, and he isn't even 20 yet! And how can he deal with the toughest of people on those streets, you ask? That dirty Father of his!"

Before Bowen could grab Anatoli out of his chair, he saw the pistol in the mafioso's holster, and he wasn't so quick to rush him.

"It's thanks to boys like you that 18 and 17 year old girls end up pregnant. I wouldn't be surprised if I found someone sleeping in your room right now," Anatoli threatened to go check Bowen's room, "You've got two choices, nephew. One: I call the local authorities, you go to prison, and your Mother will end up back in Russia with real family. Two: you pack your things, come to the States with me, and nobody will hurt your Mother. I'm giving you to the count of five, Bowen."

Anatoli pulled the pistol from it's holster, loading it with a round of ammo.

"Five seconds, Bowen." he said, aiming the gun at Sophia's chest, "Or else you won't have any visitors during your time in prison."

"Anatoli, what are you doing?!" Sophia screamed, watching as Anatoli cocked the gun, _"Положи пистолет!"_

"Four seconds, nephew," Anatoli spoke calmly, his finger on the trigger.

 _"Пожалуйста! Я твоя сестра , ради бога!"_ Sophia wanted to reach for the knife beside her, but even she knew that her older brother was a good shot.

 _"Тихо! Бог не может помочь вам!"_ Anatoli shouted, ready to shoot, "Now, we're down to two seconds."

He was about ready to pull the trigger, and before the timer in his head could go down to zero, the gun was snatched from his hand, and he was thrown against the wall by an angry, cinder-breathing Bowen. The ashes and smoke around him dissipated, and Anatoli could only chuckle, his plan to expose his nephew working perfectly.

"Well, now your Mother knows the truth," said Anatoli, "You're a part of the 5 percent in this country, you're a Metahuman. No wonder why the local slackers call you 'Smoke Bomb'. You bring the smoke, but you chose not to take us all to hell with you. You can withstand your own destruction, can't you? You're practically ready to explode."

"I _**am**_ the bomb, you bloody _**Russkie**_ ," he growled, throwing Anatoli to the floor, "You want me to go with you? Fine. Just remember to never, ever threaten my Mum again."

"Bowen" Sophia spoke softly, putting a gentle hand on her son's shoulder, "Don't do this. I don't want you to kill anyone, especially your Uncle, my own brother."

Once the hot ashes cleared from his lungs, he had to calm down. Bowen had limits, but when it came to controlling his anger, he really was a bomb. Literally, not just figuratively. He could survive a small explosion, but something similar to Hiroshima and Nakashima would not only kill him, but others could die as well.

He wasn't on the verge of nuclear self-combustion, but self-combustion itself?

That was something Bowen could do.

...That and manipulating hot ashes and smoke.

"I'm gettin' m'stuff, and I'm goin' with 'ya. Send anyone t'mess with Mum, and the last thing your boys are gonna see are baseball bats and a gasoline canister," Bowen told his Uncle, and glanced back at Anatoli's guard, "Surprised y'didn't shoot me. Good thing, too. Mum don't like blood on her floor."

Bowen walked out of the kitchen, and before heading to his upstairs room, he checked behind the TV. Low and behold, there was his stash of diamonds, gold chains, a bundle of $100 bills, and a single Rolex watch. He took the small box, wanting to keep some spare change if he were to live on his own. Going upstairs, and as he made it to the 10th step, he saw his bedroom door open. Someone slept in his bed, and they wore his old, faded sweatshirt from High School.

Bowen took each step carefully, not wanting the floor to creak. He slipped into his room, the smell of cologne and wet dog filling his nostrils. Taking a duffle bag from under his bed, he began to pack. Most of his clothes needed to be washed, but with the downstairs washing-machine broken, Bowen had no choice but to do his laundry at his 'Uncle Anatoli's' house.

"Bo?"

Looking up, he saw his cousin's friend, Eerika, sitting up in his bed. She wore his sweatshirt, the single article of clothing reaching down to her knees. The hood was pulled over her head, some strands of brown hair poking out.

"Hey, Ri. You're up already?" Bowen whispered, unable to remember how she would end up in _his_ bed, "Didn't mean t'wake 'ya up, sweetheart."

"No, no. It's... okay," Eerika groaned, "Do you... do you think we can talk real quick?"

* * *

 _ **09:00 PCT**_

 _ **Hakansbridge, Washington State**_

What was there do to in Hakansbridge? What _was_ there to do? With god-knows-how-many small shops, a forest filled with Wolves and gargantuan Moose, rivers filled with fresh fish, and a prestigious art school, there was a lot to do. If you were a tourist, it was going to take you months just to do everything in Hakansbridge. If you were Jayci, however, the entire town itself acted as her personal playground.

Even on an early Saturday morning, Jay liked to sort her Polaroid pictures, to put them on her wall. A Hawk Totem pole was placed in the corner of her bedroom, string lights wrapped around the giant carving. An entire bookshelf nearly blocked the A/C vent, nothing but vinyl records placed on each oak shelf. The brown carpet itself had been recently vacuumed, wallpapers were taped to the mint walls, and, of course, Jay's Polaroid pictures were hooked to a clothesline, most dating all the way back to the very day she was born.

She herself didn't take the photos from when she was a baby, it was her Father, Hanzo, who took the pictures.

And where was he? Thankfully and fortunately, he was still alive.

The relationship between Hanzo and his husband, Jay's _other_ Father, Callan, was still going strong after 20 years of marriage.

"Okay, Sully, I've got a whole year until I- we go to _the_ art school of _all_ art schools," Jay spoke to her Shiba Inu, who she affectionately named after one of many favorite characters, "No kidding around this time; I have to make the best art portfolio of all time. You really think I should include the comic I worked on with Jonah?"

Sully wagged his tail, and he sneezed, his soft fur ruffled.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Jay giggled, giving the dog a light scratch behind the ears, "Let's see what Dad and Papa are up to, shall we?"

Jay hopped out of bed, Sully following right behind her. Unlike most kids her age, ones that would usually just watch cartoons in the morning, Jay would clean herself up, eat breakfast, feed the Raccoons in the backyard, and roam around the house. This time, she decided to relax, tone things down for once.

She thought of what her parents would think once they saw her new hair style. While her hair wasn't cut completely, the sides were faded, while most of her curled hair remained. Her tanned skin was nearly covered in freckles, and a small crescent-shaped birthmark could be found on her collarbone. She was a bit thin, but anybody who saw her could easily recognize the muscles- ahem, the slowly-appearing muscles that had yet to show.

"Dad? Papa? Are you guys still asleep?" Jay spoke with a hushed tone, slowly opening the door, "Hello?"

Callan and Hanzo were asleep. The blinds were closed, the room was freezing cold, and the couple hid beneath what seemed like a fortress of blankets. Jay closed the door, leaving her parents to rest for a little while longer.

Jay remembered the story of how her parents met. From what her Grandmother told her so many times, Hanzo agreed to a blind date that had been set up by his older sister, Kahori. Hanzo, being impatient and all, was about to leave the restaurant, when Callan showed up last minute, clothes and arms covered in auto grease.

After years of dating, Callan and Hanzo were finally married. And after talking with Dr. Fate and John Constantine, they were able to have Jayci.

Despite Hanzo's protests to name Jayci after his Mother, Callan's own Grandfather got to name her.

Nobody won that week in the hospital. _**Nobody.**_

Jay traveled downstairs, greeted by the sweet aroma of hot tea. Personally, Matcha tea was her favorite, but Hanzo would always tell her to not drown it with sugar. Sully barked once, dashing right into the living room. He was defensive, but curious of the strange man that sat on the sofa.

"Morning, John," Jay spoke, "Back from demon hunting with your girlfriend?"

A rather exhausted John groaned, and showed Jay the silver ring in his possession. "I'm a married man, Jayci," he confirmed, "Just stopped by to get some tea."

"And most of your books?" Jay asked, grabbing her scattered articles of clothing, "I'm no demon hunter, J. I create the illusions, I don't really fight them."

"Demons are no illusion. They _**are**_ real," John warned, "Making monsters from neon is... helpful when in trouble. But, when you're against stronger forces, say... the Pantheon. At one point, you might deal with gods among men, ones stronger than any Kryptonian in this part of the galaxy."

"I don't think I'd be able to attack a defenseless hawk and a jackal, John," said Jay, "Egyptian Gods are just myth, right?"

"No, they _**aren't**_ ," John argued, "If you want, I can arrange an appointment with Sekhmet Meskhenet. We'd both lose an eye, maybe an arm and a leg if she decides to introduce us to Gahiji."

"Well... not the type of person I'd like to meet, then," Jay laughed nervously, "Who the heck is Gahiji, anyway?"

"A hulking, 420 pound Sabertooth," warned John, setting his cup of tea on the coffee table, "A big cat I prefer to never, ever encounter _**again**_."

"Riiiiight," Jay muttered, watching as the house cat, Baby, gracefully leaped onto the kitchen counter, "At least Baby isn't a giant cat. She's sweet, but she's a mice murderer. Still gets along with Sully, though."

The Calico Cat glared over at Sully, who rested under the kitchen table.

"So," the young teen broke the short silence, "What do you want to talk about? Another lecture on witchcraft? 1,000 reasons why Zatanna should've trained me? Stuff about hellhounds and succubi? Please tell me we can talk more about succubi."

John shook his head, his grin showing how unimpressed he was with Jay's crude humor. "When Epiphany comes down here from Montreal, you two can delve deeper into the subject," he spoke, "I was sent here to help you with your things."

Jay leaned against the counter, ready to hear what her teacher had to say.

"You realize I have to go to Oregon next year, right?" she said, "Getting into Greypines Academy isn't easy, J. And I plan to go to Washington State after graduating, too."

"Yes, yes, I know. Your Father likes to brag about it on the internet," said the demonologist.

"John, I have two Fathers," Jay smirked, "Which one are you talking about?"

"I read about it on _**Callan's** _ website," John raised his voice, "I know school is important to you, but you have another opportunity to shape your future."

"Okay. You want me to 'shape my future with powers' or 'shape my future as that one rebellious civilian'? John, you really have to clarify things," she joked, only to receive the glare of all glares, "Right. You want me to use my powers, don't you?"

"Exactly," he replied, "I spoke to Zatanna, and I showed her what you could do. She took my information to Zachary, and he took the info to Hal. Everybody is interested in having you on the team."

"Wait a minute, whoa. Hold the phone, J. Zach showed the video to Hal? As in Green Lantern?" she gasped, "John, I'm nowhere near ready to be a member of the Justice League or whatever. If I had a ring, maybe a Blue Lantern ring, then I'd be able to amp my powers. Right now, absorbing neon isn't getting any easier. I can create a rabid dog, but I can't create some giant, bone-armored goliath."

"Maybe you're not trying hard enough?" John doubted Jay's claims, "You're a bit young to join the Justice League. There is, however, a team meant for people your age. I'm sure you'll get along with them, too."

"What? Young Justice? I thought they disbanded?" asked Jay, "Would I be the oldest?"

"No. A few might be 19, the youngest will be at least 15 or 16," John explained, "I have absolutely no idea if they have rooms big enough to fit your things in. I heard the compound had college dorm sized rooms, maybe a bigger room for the leader. But, that's not the point. The team is designated as undercover operations, and they'll be dealing with international issues."

"So, they won't be dealing with anything supernatural?" Jay questioned.

"Maybe, maybe not. I haven't the slightest clue," said John, "Aliens, possibly. The Pantheon, that's a definite maybe. Lex Luthor? Absolutely. He's behind everything. If you want, I can wait at the hotel. I'll give you a chance to think about it."

"I... I'd have to make some excuse to tell Dad and Papa. Going to school early should be a good cover story," Jay sighed, letting Baby climb onto her shoulder, "I guess I could join the team. Where is this compound, anyway, J?"

"South Korea," said John, "Where exactly, I don't know."

"Jeez, J. South Korea? That's far," Jay murmured, "How long do I have to stay?"

"Again, I don't know, Jayci. Possibly for a year or two," he said, gently picking up his cup of tea, "What do you say? Should I tell Zatanna that you're not joining?"

Jay shrugged, wondering what she should do. What if she went? She was afraid of ruining her chances of going to Greypines. Being a Metahuman, or what some would call Homo Magi, wasn't easy, and telling someone could get you into trouble with A.R.G.U.S or the Anti-Metahuman groups. Jay had been outside of the country before, but that was for a visit to her Grandparent's home in Tokyo.

"I have two demands," Jay spoke up, "I want to take my entire music collection, my art kit, and my cat."

Sully whined, barking only once.

"Sorry, Sully, but someone needs to stay and watch Papa and Dad," Jay said with a smile, "I guess it's time for me to get out of the house, anyway."

* * *

 _ **13:00 EDT**_

 _ **A.R.G.U.S Black Site, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION**_

 _Alec Proctor, 18 years of age. No using the first or last name; change it to something different: Alexander Smith. Alec **Smith** : A.R.G.U.S' youngest technician and Level-01 asset. No talking to anyone unless completely necessary. Get the information, get out. Don't get into trouble. _

Alec had to tell this to himself almost everyday. Getting into an internship program, especially a program ran by A.R.G.U.S, was the hardest thing he could ever do. Luckily, nobody recognized him, and it only took him $80 to get a guard to keep his mouth shut. Alec would do most of his work in the computer room, and he couldn't believe A.R.G.U.S gave their interns, their _**interns**_ , almost $30 an hour.

"Hey, Al!" Joseph, one of the prison guards, called into the room, "It's almost lunch time! Want somethin'?"

"I'm good, _thanks_ ," Alec replied, his eyes locked onto the computer monitors, "I'll be fine in here."

Joseph went without saying a word, and later grumbled about Alec's personality.

Of course, Alec knew he could be a bit bitter sometimes, but he had work to do, and he wasn't going to let anyone, especially a 12-hour guard named Joseph Singh, to ruin his plans.

* * *

 **USER: smith.a.01  
PASSWORD: **************

WELCOME, **ALEXANDER SMITH**.  
 **A** dvanced **R** esearch **G** roup **U** nited **S** upport || **Harak Prison** of **Morocco**

 **| PRISONERS**  
 **| STAFF**  
 **| SECURITY PROTOCOLS**  
 **| INTERNAL SYSTEMS**

* * *

Alec accessed the prisoners files, digging deeper into the system.

* * *

 **| PRISONERS  
** human | atlantean | extraterrestrial | unidentified | metahuman

 **YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO ACCESS THE**  
'extraterrestrial' AND 'atlantean' FILES

* * *

"Right..." Alec spoke to himself, "No firewalls, and no codes? Cheap security. This is Morocco, after all."

* * *

 **| ATLANTEAN PRISONERS** , **High Risk, 0-LEVEL PRISONERS**

 **Kaldur'ahm**  
 **ATLANTEAN** | **D.O.B UNKNOWN**  
Incarcerated on 3 counts of Illegal beaching, Assault on an A.R.G.U.S Level-0 member, evading arrest.  
 **SENTENCE** : to be determined; currently in solitary and awaiting trial.

 **Curry, Arthur**  
 **ATLANTEAN | D.O.B UNKNOWN**  
Incarcerated on over 10,000+ counts of Illegal beaching, conspiracy (terrorism unknown), affiliation with Atlantean terror group, evading arrest, and over 120,000 counts of damage to public property (Coast City Incident of 2020)  
 **SENTENCE :** 34 years with possibility of a 19 year limited parole; to be deported and injected with tracking implant after sentence is served.

* * *

"Alex!" Joseph came back, his mouth stuffed his chunks of bread, "I'm heading down to shection shixteen!" he tried to speak, "Press the shilent alarm if there's any trouble!"

Alec silently nodded, but Joseph stuck around, wondering what the technician was doing.

"You okay, man?" asked Joseph.

"I'm fine, _**Singh**_ ," Alec hissed, practically wearing the keyboard out, "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me to my work. I'm busy for the next five days."

"...Fine. I won't bother you again," said the prison guard, and he went away, his footsteps echoing throughout the dimly-lit, damp, dark corridor.

Going back to his 'work', Alec entered another part of the prison's records.

* * *

 **| EXTRATERRESTRIAL PRISONERS, High-Risk, X-LEVEL PRISONERS**

 **Kha'sa'chyr G'hadak Sa'r**  
 **EXTRATERRESTRIAL :** **Yros'uurian | D.O.B 2005/2004, 721** **on home planet**  
Incarcerated on over 9,000 counts of kidnapping 50 counts of attempted murder, 50 counts of assault, Illegal Bounty Hunting, 10 charges of illegal interplanetary headhunting pending _(charge will be struck down if Law 92 is enacted)  
_ **GUARDS BE ADVISED :** Sa'r may have the appearance of an adult, human male, but it considered to be dangerous, even when unarmed. Do not engage if he is caught outside of cell.

 **Doomsday**  
 **EXTRATERRESTRIAL : Kryptonian | D.O.B UNKNOWN**  
Incarcerated on over 2,000,000 counts of murder, 1 count of attempted capitol murder (Superman Incident).  
 **HIGH RISK WARNING :** Subject is considered highly dangerous. Do not enrage, do not shoot, do not attempt to capture, incapacitate, or pursue if Doomsday escapes. Leave it to A.R.G.U.S Special Operations.

* * *

Alec didn't show it, but he was in complete shock. They had Doomsday? Doomsday? He thought it was impossible to capture a creature of such strength, but this was an A.R.G.U.S prison, one sitting right near the ocean. All Alec needed to do was create a diversion; open some of the cells, let the prisoners create a riot, let Damian grab Kaldur and Arthur, and get the hell out while they still could.

Maybe... just maybe... if one guard decided to go up for reinforcements...

* * *

 **| METAHUMAN PRISONERS, Medium Risk, 2-LEVEL PRISONERS**

 **Nanaue**  
 **METAHUMAN | D.O.B UNKNOWN**  
Incarcerated on 1 count of attempted murder, 2 counts of kidnapping, 1 count of assault and battery.  
 **SENTENCE :** 8 years, 3 for good behavior.

* * *

"Perfect," said Alec, "Either this information is wrong, or somebody within A.R.G.U.S' top ranks is giving King Shark a break."

King Shark would be the insurance; he would keep the guards back. Despite the obvious fact that Nanaue was one of the 'baddies', a nickname that Alec's brother, Damian, liked to use, the Metahuman was still a valuable piece in Alec's puzzle. No, not a puzzle, more like a complicated, well-constructed Algorithm.

Before logging out, Alec copied most of the information, and placed it into his flash drive. He had a feeling he'd need it for later. He took the flash drive, grabbed his laptop bag, placed his books and files inside, and left his office.

"Damian?" Alec spoke, activating his communicator, "Where are you?"

 _"0-Level's main control system. Want me to set the fireworks off, El Capitan?"_ Damian joked, _"Right, right... I can open the cells. Just say when."_

"10 seconds," said Alec, pulling his phone from his back pocket, "Let me handle the intellisec cams."

 _10, 9, 8..._

Alec accessed the 0-Level systems, getting through the firewall.

 _7, 6, 5..._

He bypassed security protocols, gaining immediate access to the intellisec cameras. Deactivating them was the easy part, but for the guards to re-activate them? That was the challenge.

 _4, 3, 2, 1..._

Suddenly, the alarms activated, and almost everything went into full lockdown. The elevators would be accessible, but only with an K-Alpha Security Card. The same card that A.R.G.U.S gave to guards, security contractors, and technicians.

 _ **"All personnel! A riot is in progress on 0-Level! This is not a drill! All unessential personnel, evacuate immediately!"**_

"Damian, I'll get Kaldur, and you get Arthur. Meet us in 20 minutes," Alec said calmly, trying to keep the alarms from inducing a panic attack, "Try not to get yourself shot? You know how hard it is to get the bullets out."

 _"A bit hard to- **fzt-** I can't- **fzzzt-** Ale- **fzzztttt**..."_ the signal had been lost, and Damian couldn't communicate with Alec anymore.

"Shit," Alec murmured. As he made his way toward the elevator, he took the card from his lanyard, ready to insert it into the slot. Getting inside, he pressed the button for 0-Level, and used his card, the doors closing as soon as it accepted the card's code. With a slight jolt, the elevator sped down, nearly giving Alec a heart attack. Within mere seconds of leaving the 10th floor, the elevator stopped at 0-Level, and the doors opened to a rather chaotic scene.

Prisoners fought each other, some decided to attack the guards, and a few were smart enough to try and find there way out.

Alec had his way of getting through, but the modifications on the technology of his suit... wasn't exactly ready yet. He needed to at least try. Pressing his thumb against the black cuff on his wrist, black material quickly crawled up his arm, and with the whisper of a voice command, Alec became a Chameleon, blending in with his surroundings.

He ran past the brawling prisoners, sliding down the railing of the stairs, and straight into 0-Level's Solitary Confinement. The lights were bright, and the guards were gone, their guns left behind. The cell doors were made of a mixture of kevlar and titanium, making it impossible to bust the doors open. Most in 0-Level's solitary were Atlantean, and very few were human.

Using his fingerprint once again, Alec deactivated the cloak, and allowed his head to be exposed, part of his suit reverting only to his neck. One door had already been opened, and a trail of water had been left behind. Damian must've been here already, Alec thought. As he grew closer to Kaldur's cell, he noticed a keypad at the door. It wasn't busted, nor was it deactivated, but figuring out the right combination was 'mission' critical.

One wrong code, and the keypad could shut itself down.

"The combination is 23297," a voice spoke from inside the cell, "Make sure to get it right."

Alec listened, carefully entering the code. Once the keypad's screen turned green, the air-locked door opened, a cold blast of air replacing the warm air.

"I wonder why someone like you would even bother to save an Atlantean," said Kaldur, walking out of the cell, "We aren't very popular among humans."

Like other 'special' prisoners within Harak, bandages and gauze were placed over Kaldur's gills, and over the covers was a padded collar, one with an electric shock device implanted for safe measure. He wore nothing but a plain white shirt and beige sweatpants. It was the normal prison uniform, but he had taken his shoes off.

"I'd open the other doors if I were you," Kaldur spoke to Alec, "It wouldn't be right to leave without the others."

"We don't have much time," Alec said, "I don't know all the codes to-"

Every single door in solitary opened, some reluctant to walk out, but a few walked right out.

 _"Doors are- **fzzzt** \- I got them open, Al- **fzzttt**."_

Damian had hacked the system, freeing the other Atlanteans. While Alec wanted to get Kaldur and get out, his brother decided it was a good idea to give him extra **cargo**.

 _"Δεν μου αρέσει αυτό. Τι και αν αυτός είναι που οδηγεί όλους μας να θανάτους μας; Τι τότε?"_ A rather scar-covered Atlantean spoke, nervous to go with Alec, _"Πώς μπορούμε να εμπιστευόμαστε ακόμη και μια ανθρώπινη?"_

 _"Μπορούμε και θα το κάνουμε,"_ Kaldur replied in his native tongue, _"Όλοι μένουν μαζί. Κανείς δεν παίρνουν τον εαυτό τους σκότωσε."_

"""""""""""

Some said twins could read each other's minds. When it came to Damian and Alec, it was Damian who knew what his brother was thinking. Not complete thoughts, more like gut feelings. So, he went up to 2-Level, and... there wasn't exactly a riot, but there was more calm than violence. While the guards had left, some of the prisoners took this opportunity to find their way out of the prison. While they made their makeshift rafts and gathered supplies, Damian went on to look for Nanaue.

" _Sie sind für Nanaue suchen, nicht wahr?_ " a prisoner spoke to Damian, " _Er ist in S.A. 23. Es wird ihm eine Minute oder zwei zu nehmen um zu kommen, so geben Sie ihm einen Schuss Adrenalin. Vielleicht drei oder vier. Fügen Sie etwas B2, wenn Sie wollen."_

 _"Danke für das,"_ Damian replied, his German a bit rusty.

 _"Keine Ursache,"_ the man acknowledged.

Damian went down the hall as he was told to. The S.A lab was on lockdown, and to get in, one would need an J-Beta access card, and using the H-Omega or any card lower would trigger the _extra_ security: turrets _**and** _ armed men.

"Um... hello? Hello!" Damian yelled, hoping a researcher was inside the lab, "Can someone let me in?"

Damian could see a white-coat clad Doctor peaking around the corner, and in her hand was the J-Beta card. Her hand trembled as she swiped the card, and as the doors opened, she ran, the sound of a gate opening and closing. Entering the lab,

Damian was greeted by the smell of blood and oxygen gas. The lab was empty, all supplies, test tubes, and equipment taken. There was a large pool of red water, what was inside it exactly, Damian didn't know. He walked towards it, looked down, but saw nothing.

Noticing the tubes connected to separate pipes, Damian kneeled down, and one by one, he yanked them, some sort of gas began to spill out. The tubes went into the water, disappearing from view.

Hearing glass shatter, Damian turned around, only to see a group of mice out of their cages.

"Alec?" Damian tried to reach his brother, but he only received static, "I let Arthur go to the surface without me. He said he'd be fine, but with reinforcements on their way, he's probably gone by now."

Behind Damian, the waters began to ripple, a head poking out from underneath.

"Hello? Hello?!" Damian kept trying to get through to Alec, "Come on, Al. If you're playing some joke on me, it isn't funny anymore."

Rising from the surface, a muzzled King Shark towered over Damian, blocking the light from the LED strips above. Nanaue was labeled as the 'Mutated Atlantean' by most, but he wasn't from Atlantis, let alone related to any Atlantean. While he had features similar to a Shark, but the two rows of razor sharp teeth proved he wasn't normal. His red mohawk, which once acted as a dorsal fin, had been removed, a feature that would've enabled Nanaue to gain a speed boost when underwater.

His healing process would only take five to six days, maybe hours if he was lucky, but growing hair... _**growing actual hair...**_ that was another issue.

Damian, seeing the shadow cast over him, slowly turned around with his hands up.

"I'm gonna guess you're no guard," Nanaue grumbled, deep voice reverberating off the walls, "Do you wanna _**die** _ today?"

"I'd like to live to 100, thanks," said Damian, "You're Nanaue, right? I thought you died in the Task Force X incident at Arkham?"

"Surgery and a healing factor help with blown-off heads," Nanaue chucked, stepping out of his tank, "Been in there for a while. It took me a while to heal... and to get my brains put back together."

"So, you're not-"

"I'm not gonna kill you. I'm no Killer Croc," said the shark-man, "I stopped eating human flesh a long time ago. A pig, raw or roasted, is all I need to dig my teeth into."

"Well, that's good to know," Damian muttered, avoiding eye contact with Nanaue, "You need something to cover yourself up with or..?"

"What? You expected me to come out wearing a full body suit? Clothes get stained easily, especially when you're in a tank full of your own blood," he spoke, "Don't just stand there, kid. Why not do something useful with those hands of yours, huh? Grab. Me. A. Pair. Of. _Decent_. _**Pants**_."

"""""""""""

Alec and the group reached the surface, all of them lucky to have avoided all of the guards and rioting prisoners. Alec had been inside of the complex for so long, that he had lost track of time. It was already nighttime, and the full moon was already up, shining down on the waters beyond the cliffs.

"Where can you go from here, Kaldur?" Alec asked, "Is Atlantis far?"

"We can get to Tethys, maybe Ladon. From there, we can get to Atlantis," said Kaldur, "They're going to talk about today, Alec. After all these years, somebody decided to help us, to help my people. What made you decide to free us?"

"Something about the Young Justice initiative. I was approached by a girl named Tula, and she told me you would help me," said Alec, "What's so important about this team, anyway? I heard they _helped_ save the world a few times, but they aren't like the Justice League."

"If you want to know more, you should talk to me once we leave this place," Kaldur advised, "A.R.G.U.S reinforcements can arrive at any minute. I'd rather be underwater than on the surface. Can you swim?"

"This suit allows me to breathe underwater, _and_ I had to swim when I was growing up. Mom made me take swim lessons, and I wasn't happy about it either," Alec said, noticing a tall figure standing on the water's surface, "Is... is that Aquaman?"

Once Kaldur looked in Alec's direction, he saw Arthur waving at them, trying to get their attention.

 _"Είναι ο βασιλιάς! Περιμένει για μας!"_ said one in the group, _"Τι περιμένουμε? Πάμε!"_

 _"Alec περιμένει κάποιος άλλος: ο αδελφός του. Πρέπει να περιμένουμε,"_ Kaldur spoke, _"Πού είναι?"_

"""""""""""

In the elevator, both Damian and Nanaue remained silent, the elevator music playing in the background. Nanaue had found pants to wear, but as tall as he was, they fit more like skin-tight shorts. He glanced down at Damian, deciding it was time to break the silence.

"You don't smell like a normal kid," he said, "More like stomach acid and fluids. You sick or something?"

"I had to get some blood work done, and I threw up last night's turkey-burgers today," Damian groaned, his stomach gurgling, "So, if you- we end up getting out of here, where are you going?"

"South Pole," Nanaue admitted, "I gotta get someone out of the ice."

"A girlfriend, I assume?" Damian chuckled, and Nanaue nervously smiled, baring all two rows of teeth.

"Ah- no. She's... just a friend," Nanaue stuttered, but once he got a whiff of the air, his pupils grew small, "You expecting guests?"

"I only came here with my brother, and we don't have backup..." Damian grew suspicious, "What do you smell?"

"Smirnoff, gasoline, and piss. Your friends must've avoided Warden Bastion and his sub-machine team. Good for nothin' bald-head is about to meet God today, I'll tell you that," Nanaue growled, "You might wanna get behind me. Things are going to get messy."

"And what happens if they shoot at you?" Damian questioned, moving behind the behemoth, "You're bulletproof, right?"

"No shit, Sherlock," said Nanaue, feeling the elevator come to a halt, "You got a sensitive stomach, kid?"

"A little. Blood can make me queasy," replied Damian, "That and roller coasters."

"Then try not to look at the end result of what's about to happen,"" Nanaue cracked his knuckles, the doors opening.

A bald man, Bastion, stood with a few other armed men, all cocking their guns. Behind them, the exit was halfway closed, a trident forced in between the gears. Surprisingly, Bastion and his team were the only ones out of hiding, while the others, including the weakest of guards, fled into the bunkers. Like those who worked in the prison said: _"Cheap pay, no guards on riot day."_

"Shark, you got 10 seconds to get back to the lab, or we'll make sure your brains stay liquefied after we're done with you!" Bastion said with a heavy accent, "Stand down! There's no way out for you!"

"That's _**King**_ Shark to you, baldy!" Nanaue shouted, gills and nostrils flaring, "You want some liquefied brains?" he questioned, "Fine. I'll give all of you some liquefied brains..."

"""""""""""

While the group went off into the ocean, Kaldur and Alec remained on the cliff, waiting for Damian. Hearing gunshots, Kaldur turned towards the entrance of the prison. He saw the Warden himself drag himself out of the prison, but before he could even touch the sand, he let out a yelp and was dragged back inside, his screams of sheer pain echoing.

Then, silence.

"Who else did you release from this prison?" Kaldur asked Alec, "There's only one person I know who has- _**had**_ a grudge against Warden Bastion like that."

"I only released you and the others from those cells. My brother probably-"

Before Alec could finish his sentence, the doors of the entrance burst open, and Nanaue came charging out of the prison. He carried Damian along with him, who had a look of fear on his face.

"Damian, where have you been?!" Alec shouted at his brother, but he and Kaldur were grabbed by the giant shark-man.

"No time to talk here! We're leaving!" Nanaue exclaimed, and he dove right into the waters, missing the rocks by only a few inches or so. One part of the prison exploded in flames, shrapnel and debris flying everywhere. Somehow, somebody was able to activate a bomb, and it would've ensured the protection of the database's info. Unfortunately, Alec had half of the database files within his phone.

With it, he could prove one of many conspiracies. A.R.G.U.S was conducting illegal experiments, holding prisoners on false charges, and illegally holding extraterrestrials without permission from the government. Well, any government, actually. They _were_ in Morocco.

Coming up to the surface, Alec and Damian coughed up the salt water, struggling to stay up, but Kaldur and Nanaue absolutely loved being back in the water, even though it was **freezing** cold.

"You released _**King Shark?**_ " Kaldur was furious, wanting to get answers from his new acquaintances, "Do you know how dangerous he is? People can die because of him!"

"What? You think I wanted to kill those people back then? Those were my Suicide Squad days, Aqua _ **lad**_. I got my head blown off my a grenade in my neck, and I got lucky to grow most of it back, you know that? I hate A.R.G.U.S just as much as you and pretty boy over _there_ do," Nanaue growled, pointing at Arthur.

Arthur frowned, letting himself fall into the water. Once he resurfaced, he swam over to the four.

"I have no problem with letting Nanaue come along with us, but I'd like to know _why_ and **_how_** we're not dead already," said Arthur, turning his attention to the two brothers, "Alec and Damian, right? Tula told me about you two in the letter she sent yesterday. The prison staff isn't exactly good at reading Ancient Atlantean."

"Tula told you about _us_? I didn't know we were that famous," said Damian, "What now?"

"You should go with Kaldur. He'll take you to the new base," Arthur said, but Kaldur protested.

"What about the others? Where are they going to go?" Kaldur argued.

"I'll take them. You take Damian, Alec, _and_ Nanaue here with you. Stop by one of the colonies first, you'll meet Tempest and Tula there. Make sure nobody on this shore sees you, or else they'll discover all of us," warned the Atlantean King, "I do't want anybody else to die because of me."

"Hey, wait just a minute. I got a girl in the South Pole waiting for me, and you want me to go with these three?" the shark-man asked, "I can't go where I wanna go?"

"If you want to gain my trust, you're going with them," Arthur hissed, "Do you have a problem with that? Or should I just take you back to the prison myself? It's your choice."

"Uh... well... never really thought of that..." Nanaue mumbled, looking up to the smoke above them, "I... I think baby girl can wait. She's gonna be _salty_ finding out I went somewhere else instead of going to her first. Hell, she doesn't even know I'm alive. Last time Louise saw me, I was a headless piece of shark chum just sitting in a chair."

"Now that you're out of prison, _and_ without a bomb in your neck, you don't have to worry about it now," Damian mentioned one of Waller's _precautions,_ "So, does this mean we're on the team?"

"That's for Kaldur and the others to decide, but if I was able to decide, I'd let you two join immediately," said Arthur, "I think the team needs people like you two. But, just try not to get yourselves killed along the way to the base."

* * *

 _ **02:00 CET**_

 _ **Prague, Czech Republic**_

Prague was a safe haven for Metahumans, and fortunately, it was safe from A.R.G.U.S' international agents. Some parts were safe from them, but not all. State Police, often bribed by A.R.G.U.S and other private contractors, liked to harass Metahuman citizens, even though most were citizens of the Czech Republic. Some, however, weren't citizens, but were people trying to find a place to call home, to flee from oppression and segregation in their countries of origin. During the early morning hours, the train station was crawling with the homeless, both human and metahuman, all begging denizens for food, water, anything to help them in the long run.

A tiny section of Rovnost Station was tent city; there were little to no lights, stray dogs running rampant, rats crawling out of pipes, and on the worst of days, someone would end up in the hospital due to three reasons: they overdosed, they got into a knife fight, or they were attacked by a Metahuman. Usually, it was reason number three. Unless you were State Police of anybody with power, being in Rovnost was risky, especially when dealing with the local homeless. Denizens were advised to never travel to Rovnost during the night hours, and those who wanted to take the train were often diverted to Chrám or Krok dveří Station.

Einam preferred staying in Rovnost. They didn't exactly like his 'type' at any other public place, let alone a restaurant. He had been in and out of the clinics, mostly because of recent stab wounds, but he would always come out with his parka pockets stuffed with bottles of painkillers, food packets, and bandages. He gave half of the food to his 'neighbors', kept the painkillers for himself, and only used the bandages for the bloodier situations. He had a routine, one he always stuck with, and one he would never get rid of: wake up, eat, look for a job, get back to Rovnost, eat again, and sleep.

At 2:00 AM, Einam was awake, cleaning up his three-room tent. He swept the junk onto the pavement, and went back into his tent, zipping the door closed. He was right under a vent, and he had used a wide tube to transfer some of the warmth into his room, the rest of his tent remained cold, the biggest of mice unable to live in his makeshift kitchen. Einam, going into his room, took a mug filled with coffee with him, the glazed clay warming his hand. In his part of the tent was a cot, the covers ready to fall onto the floor. A small table was placed at the end of his cot, a portable lamp placed on the wood surface, and a 9mm Glock taped under it.

He rarely used the pistol, but he knew he would need it one of these days.

 _"V nedávné zprávy, útěk došlo v nyní odhalené A.R.G.U.S chodu věznice: Harák,"_ a radio host spoke in Czech, speaking of the Harak Prison breakout, _"Americká organizace byl kritizován za své činy při zacházení s lidskými - metahuman vztahy, ale žádná taková opatření byla přijata proti A.R.G.U.S nebo jejich přidružených společností."_

As the radio played in the background, Einam sat on the cot, _a_ nd took a mirror from underneath. After a fight with Ondřej, a man who ran the local club- _Ďáblův dům_ \- Einam needed to see if he had any bruises at all. With a steady hand, he held the basketball-sized mirror, and examined the damage Ondřej had done.

There was a reddish purple, swollen bruise near his right eye, the pus and blood filled knot beginning to ache, as if it had a pulse. His hair had grown down to his shoulders, a few of the brown locks falling in front of his face. From the neck down, he had scars all over his body, very few from his stay at Rikers Island, and most from his time as a human test subject for a private government-ran project: **Mu** tant **G** enetics Emulatio **n**.

Einam couldn't remember serving his time at Rikers, let alone anything else before that. But, he remembered what had happened at the El Dorado Lab, and how he freed every single prisoner, both monster and metahuman, from the black site.

It was thanks to Einam that Brooklyn, the Bronx, and New Washington were crawling with failed _projects_ created by M.U.G.E.N's researchers, and all three areas were quarantined by Waller and A.R.G.U.S special operations.

 _"Státní policie! Musíme si promluvit s tebou!_ " a woman shouted from outside, asking for Einam to come outside, _"Pojď ven, a nebudeme muset přijít!"_

Raising his head, Einam set the mirror down, getting up to see who was bothering him so early in the morning. He put his blue parka on, and zipped it up, keeping the cold air from freezing him to death. Before going out, he tightened the laces of his boots, wanting to look _decent_ in front of the Police.

 _"Mluvíte česky nebo anglicky, pane?"_ one officer asked Einam, watching carefully as he walked out of the tent.

 _"Mluvím oběma jazyky, důstojník,"_ Einam spoke, standing with confidence, "English is the one language I understand better than Czech."

"Fine, sir. If it makes you feel any better, we'll speak English," said the female officer, her facial expressions hidden behind a solid black gas mask, "We received reports of a male transient assaulting a Mr. Ondřej Dvorak. We were told that he fled into this part of Rovnost Station shortly after the attack, and a few eye-witness reports led us to this specific location."

"In other words: we have questions for you," said the male officer, adjusting the straps of his protective gear, "Forget the whole 'snitches get stitches' or whatever that _Americký_ crap is, **_feťák_**. You're going to tell us what you know, or else you're going to spend a very long and painful week in the hospital."

"I'm no junkie. I don't do drugs like Novak a few tents down," Einam groaned, scratching at the back of his neck, "I don't want any trouble. If I were you, I'd let your girlfriend here do the talking."

 _"Ty hajzle!"_ the male officer growled, aiming his rifle at Einam, "Stand back, Svoboda. I'm shooting this one right in between the eyes."

"Stand down, Blazek! We'll take him in for questioning!" Svoboda insisted, a hand on her holstered gun, "Sir, we need you to-"

"Čeněk Blazek?" Einam asked, recognizing the name.

"How would a dirt-poor meta like you know my name? I've never seen you before in my life," Blazek spat, "What? You think you know me from somewhere?"

The name Čeněk Blazek was all too familiar to Einam. He remembered a man with the same name, but the Čeněk he knew was working for BLACKCORPS: a private military operation that operated within El Dorado, and planned operations that toppled Dictatorships internationally.

One problem: they also brought test subjects, prisoner and civilian alike, to have the researchers at El Dorado test biological weapons and infectious diseases on the innocent, unwilling people.

BLACKCORPS was no good to Einam if the entire operation was still alive.

"BLACKCORPS Sergeant Čeněk Blazek, SN BC71297," Einam said, repeating what Čeněk used to stay upon entry into the lab, "You should've stayed in the states."

Before Čeněk could shoot, Einam grabbed his gun, and shot at Svoboda, five bullets hitting her bulletproof vest, but the full force causing her to hit her head on the pavement. Einam bashed Čeněk's nose, his elbow hitting cartilage with a sickening crack. The officer collapsed in a crumpled heap, balling himself up in the fetal position, and crying like a little girl.

"Come on, man! I never meant to shoot at you! I-I saw a fly!" Čeněk cried, scared for his own life, "I have a wife and kids at home! Let me go, and I won't tell anybody about this!"

"Your wife? The only 'wife' you have is an exotic dancer named Dominika, and her baby is only 3 months old. Last time you saw Dominika was 9 months ago," Einam said, leaning over Čeněk, "I've been watching, waiting for you to come down here. You're just #20 on a long list of targets."

Einam took a knife from the belt of his pants, the blade shining under the light.

"You're lucky, Čeněk. Your put under "incapacitate only'," said Einam, pressing the blade against the officer's left knee, "After this, the only way you're getting around is with a Kozu Prosthetic."

Before he could jam the knife right into Čeněk's kneecap, the officer's cellphone began to ring. Einam, reluctant at first, dug the phone out of Čeněk's jacket pocket, UNKNOWN showing up on caller ID.

Einam decided to answer, wondering who was calling at a bad time.

 _"This is a secure line, so don't worry about anybody listening to this call,"_ a deep voice spoke, _"After this call, you can go back to making an example of Mr. Blazek."_

Einam looked at the camera above, knowing whoever was calling him had been watching this entire time.

"Who is this?" Einam asked, keeping a close eye on Čeněk, "Are you with the US Government? A.R.G.U.S? El Dorado?"

 _"Mr. Ward, the only name you'll address me by is Washington. I've been following your work for years now. The people you've eliminated, incapacitated, and wounded were very dangerous people, and to us, they were a top priority, but you got to them first,"_ said Washington, _"That man in front of you is Čeněk Josef Blazek: a BLACKCORPS Lieutenant, former member of a Prague-based Separatist Army, and a local Arms Dealer working with Ondřej Dvorak."_

"Why are you telling me something I already know?" Einam questioned.

 _"You could be dethroning leaders, politicians, and people who have been in the spotlight for too long,"_ Washington said, _"Mr. Ward, we're giving you a chance to not only bring A.R.G.U.S down, but the United States government as well. I've read your file, and you're not a fan of authority figures, I see. This is something we're looking for."_

"If I may ask, sir, who exactly is 'we'?"

 _"I'm not permitted to give you anymore information than needed, Mr. Ward. If you agree to come to the Luthor Corp. tower in New York, we'll send a private jet to Prague by 7:20 AM,"_ Washington proposed, _"If you don't agree, then you give us no choice but to bring you here by force, and we'll have to do a clean sweep of your residence in Metropolis."_

"Is that a threat, Wash?"

 _"No, but a rational reason for you to come to NYC without incident,"_ said Washington, _"Or, I can put Mr. Luthor himself on the phone. I'm sure he'll make up a thousand and one different ways how he can get you out of Prague."_

"What's in it for me?"

 _"Anarchy, an end to BLACKCORPS, A.R.G.U.S, and the government itself,"_ Washington spoke, _"What is your decision, Mr. Ward?"_

"...I want the jet here by 4:00, no later than that," Einam agreed, "It won't take long for me to deal with Čeněk here."

* * *

 ** _23:00 EST_**

 ** _Gotham City, New Jersey_**

When dealing with the thugs, criminals, and thieves of Gotham, all of them belonged to a gang, or they were trying to join one. Joker Gang, the Sionis Mafia, Gotham Impostors, Los cráneos llameantes, those were just four of over fifty gangs in Gotham. In the GCPD Station, it was mostly members of the Joker Gang and Los cráneos llameantes who ended up sitting in the holding cells, and those in the Mafia ocassionally got off easy. With Commissioner Gordon running for Mayor, he had to leave his top detectives to watch the precinct, and it was busier than usual, leaving everyone with more paperwork to file.

After passing his detective's exam months ago, the only person Tim had to deal with was his friend Matthew's nephew, Ryan.

And boy, did the kid _**love**_ to get himself intro trouble.

After taking him out of a potentially deadly street race with Los cráneos llameantes Gang, Tim had no choice but to drive Ryan back to Wayne Manor, knowing Matthew wasn't at work. He would've been furious to know that his only surviving nephew was risking his life driving a $13,000, almost irreplaceable Lamborghini Huracan.

So, as Ryan sat silent in the passenger's seat, Tim drove the Huracan, upset with Ryan's reckless actions. The young man crossed his arms, and stared out the window, watching the skyscrapers and buildings they passed right by. He unbuttoned his navy blue blazer, feeling uncomfortably hot despite the A/C being on full blast. Taking a comb out of his side pocket, he brushed his hair back, messing up his fauxhawk.

Tim knew Ryan was trying to avoid starting a conversation, but the junior detective was going to talk to him anyway, even if he refused to speak up.

"You do realize you were dealing with Mateo Santana, right?" Tim asked Ryan, "That was Chato's cousin. Do you know who Chato Santana is?"

" _Enlighten me_ ," Ryan groaned.

"Chato Santana is a metahuman, but we at the GCPD station _and_ LAPD know him as El Diablo, and messing with his cousin is a death sentence," Tim warned, "You could've gotten yourself killed. Your life is important to your Uncle; if he dies, you'll be left in charge of a company that can beat Wayne Tech at its own game."

"I don't care for Wayne Tech," Ryan said, "Even if Uncle Matthew doesn't die, I still have to do some of the work for him. I'm not meant to sit through company meetings."

"Are you ready to sit in an interrogation room?" Tim questioned, stopping at an intersection, "If you won't do the work, be ready to do some time. I've known people like you who've ended up in jail for murder, assault, robberies, and yes, _street racing_. I had to arrest Bruce's own son because of some petty crime, and trust me, none of us were happy about it, but I had no choice."

"Sucks for him," said Ryan.

"Do you think this is a game, Ryan?" Tim became frustrated with the young man's attitude, "I'm serious. Either we head to Wayne Manor, or I'm taking you down to the precinct. It's your choice."

"What? You're really going to put _me_ behind bars? Tim, Uncle Matthew would have you _**job**_ if you-" Ryan quickly shut up once he saw they were just a block away from the GCPD precinct, and in the distance, he saw Mateo Santana being dragged out of a Police car, forced to walk up into the station. If Mateo had been arrested, then that meant the police raided the garage, and everybody, with the exception of Ryan, had been arrested. Tim pulled him out of there before he could get arrested, but he could still threaten him with jail time, a tactic which could scare the boy into stopping his recklessness immediately and suddenly.

"Last chance, Ry. Jail, or home," Tim said, slowly driving towards the station, "At this rate, we'll be in the parking lot in... less than a minute."

"No! _**No!**_ Tim, I'm serious. Just get out of here!" Ryan pleaded, trying to hide from the view of others who had been arrested, "Come on! I can't deal with these people! I'll get myself **killed**!"

"Exactly," said the junior detective, making a u-turn, "I'm glad you finally realize your mistakes."

He drove away from the station, and made a left, going down the nearly car-less street. "Ry, you're about to go to college, and I, personally, don't want you to just throw that opportunity in the trash. A 4.5 GPA, a scholarship to the University of Chicago, and four other scholarships to Ivy League schools if Chicago doesn't work out? Kid, you've got a future ahead of you, but doing what you're doing right now will ruin it all."

"College is a year away, Tim. What do you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to stop risking your life, stay off the streets after curfew, and stop trying to arrest people on your own," Tim advised, "I know what you do at night and in the morning. You're no saint, that's for sure, but hog-tying people and leaving them for the police? You may not be Batman, but you're not Red Hood. One person has died already thanks to Crimson, but, I'm sure you already knew this, am I right?"

Ryan froze, and he became defensive. "What do you mean? Crimson Inquisitor hasn't killed anybody, and he's not trying to be like Batman or Red Hood."

"Then explain how we found a single strand of Kevlar at a crime scene in Gotham Heights? The only mass producer of Kevlar nowadays if Trifex Nexus, which is owned by Matthew Garrison: your _uncle._ You really need to watch how you handle your armor, Ryan. One wrong move, and they can find DNA on anything you drop. GCPD will swarm your condo, your Uncle's home, and the entire company building yourself. You don't want that, do you?" asked Tim, "So, if I were you, I'd talk to Bruce about this. With all these prisoners being released from Rikers, Arkham, Belle Reve, and Blackgate prison, it's starting to get a little dangerous around here."

"Well, I can't be in four places at the same time to stop people from leaving prison," Ryan scoffed, wondering what Tim was talking about.

"This is all I have to say: get your things packed, be at Terminal J at GNA by 9:30, and we'll go on from there," said Tim, pulling over in front of an highrise building, "This is your stop."

"You said we were-"

"I changed my mind," Tim interrupted, "Just remember what I said, Ry. I don't want to visit you at Rikers anytime soon."

Ryan opened the door, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, closing the door. Tim rolled the window down, and said a few other things to his protege. "I'm taking your car back to your Uncle's house," he said, "Remember: 9:30, be at Terminal J, or else I'm calling the Commissioner about your little race with Mateo."

"Gordon isn't in town right now, he's in D.C," Ryan argued.

"He just got back from D.C a few days ago, so I'd be worried if I were you," Tim chuckled, and drove off, the engine of the black Huracan roaring loudly. Ryan let out a sigh of exasperation, and headed into the highrise, the doorman opening the entrance for him. As his footsteps echoed in the hall, Ryan thought of what Tim had told him. Why would he want him at the airport? For what exactly? Everybody knew Bruce was still in possession of everything when it came to Wayne Enterprises, _especially_ the company jet... and the yacht... and the helicopter. Unless Bruce had sometime to do with whatever was about to happen, Ryan doubted if Tim had the resources to get them wherever they were going.

"Ah, Mr. Garrison!" Jensen, the owner of the highrise, walked over to Ryan, who wasn't in the mood to talk with Jensen about the rent, "Can I talk to-"

"Jensen, I told you once, and I'm telling you again, I don't have the money yet," Ryan growled, "Just let me-"

"Your rent was completely paid off, Mr. Garrison," said Jensen, "You can thank Mr. Wayne for that."

* * *

 _ **14:00 PDT**_

 _ **Pahoa, Hawaii**_

Pahoa wasn't a big town or a city, but it wasn't a small city, either. It was more in between, a _medium_ town, as some people liked to call it. There were only three schools, two of them middle schools, and the other was a high school. Everybody knew each other in the community, and news of a death in the family, birthday, injury, or feud would spread through the town like wildfire. Keeping a secret was useless, because it only took one person to start the gossip. It was true: there were Metahumans in Pahoa, but they were welcomed like family, because to most, they were actual family.

With Danielle, however, her Dad never wanted a daughter with powers, which explained why he left Pahoa almost a decade and two years ago.

At 2:00 in the afternoon, Danielle was a mile or two away from the Pahoa shore, sitting by herself in an outrigger canoe. She needed some time alone from home, and with her Uncle and Aunt visiting, she felt crowded, even inside a 3,250 square foot house. So, she took a tour around the sea, and ocassionally dove down into the water, looking for shells and coral. So far, she had one hermit crab shell, a piece of coral, and quite a few pieces of Pumice inside a fishnet.

Danielle put her goggles on, and dove again, swimming into the crystal clear waters. A school of fish swam right past her, and a whole gang of crabs were huddled under the coral, threatening Danielle by raising their claws. She ignored them, and they ignored her, but remained vigilant. Danielle had heard rumors that there was Kryptonite within the waters near her hometown, and finding a huge chunk of it was worth almost $10,000. Nobody knew why Lex Luthor wanted so much Kryptonite, but most said he and the government were using it as a defense system against 'hostile' Kryptonians... if there were any left _besides_ Superman.

Seeing a glint of green in the light, Danielle swam to the bottom of the coral, away from the crabs, and near a baby Tiger Shark, one that minded its own business. She tugged and pulled at the cat-sized rock, and when it gave way, she struggled to swim towards the surface, the rock heavier than normal. Using most of her strength, she threw it out of the water, and up into the boat, causing it to rock side to side. Once Danielle felt the cool air hit her, she took deep breaths, gasping for fresh air. The teen climbed back into the canoe, gaining her balance before inspecting the rock.

Using a hammer, she cracked the shell open, exposing a bright, shining blue crystal under it. It wasn't Kryptonite, but the water made it seem as if it was green. She didn't know what it was, but once she got to shore, she was going to take it to the mineral shop and sell it, _if_ it was worth anything at all.

"Didn't know you collected crystals," said Firestorm, hovering above Danielle, "You should take that to Hal and see what he says about it."

"Hey, F.S," said Danielle, somewhat unexcited to see her friend, "So, how's college, Jason? I'm going to guess you've escaped Ronnie's wedgies, right?"

 _"Not even close,"_ said Jason, but Ronnie interrupted, "He's a little upset about not making the football team."

 _"Because I'd rather play with the band instead of being a jock, that's for sure,"_ Jason quipped, _"You found something, Dani?"_

"I have no idea what is it, either," Danielle was curious, and continued to hit the crystal, but it was as tough as steel, "Why should I take it to Green Lantern, anyway?"

 _"Well, power rings have been popping up all over the galaxy,"_ Jason explained, _"Someone in Jump City found a Yellow Lantern ring, and where they went with it, we don't know. They disappeared off the face of the Earth."_

"You should be careful with that, Danielle," said Ronnie, inspecting the blue crystal, "Have you tried using some heat to get it open?" he suggested.

"In the canoe, guys? I can burn a hole in the bottom and _**drown**_ ," Danielle said, her black, wavy hair swaying in the wind, "I can still try it, though. Maybe when I get to shore. What did you guys need, anyway? Fresh seafood?"

"Nah, we're just-"

 _"Here to talk,"_ said Jason, interrupting Ronnie once again, _"Can we have a seat?"_

"As long as you two keep the canoe afloat, it's totally cool with me," Danielle agreed, "Try not to burn the seat, yeah?"

Firestorm took a seat in the canoe, rocking the boat just a little bit, but not that much.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Danielle asked, digging through her fishnet full of items.

"I'm sure you've heard of that Harak prison break, right?" Firestorm questioned, watching a hermit crab try to crawl out of the boat, "Kaldur and Arthur escaped, along with King Shark, and some alien bounty hunter disappeared, too."

"Kaldur and Arthur are out? Finally! It's about time somebody helped the Atlanteans," Danielle was happy for the two, "Where are they headed now? Back to the Watchtower?"

"Not just yet," said Firestorm, "They need some rest before they can do anything else. Prison can _really_ wear you out."

"I spent a whole 18 months at an all-girls Juvy Camp once, so I completely understand what it's like to be behind bars. And by bars, I mean behind barbed wire fences," Danielle looked back on the 'good ol' days' from years ago, "Maybe King Shark is heading over here? He's being worshiped by the locals up and down the coast nowadays."

"As much as we- _I_ hate to admit it, Shark is with Kaldur and Arthur," Firestorm admitted, cringing somewhat, "They're headed to Korea, and a few others are joining them, too. I was sent here to talk to your Mom, but _**Jason**_ insisted that _we_ talk to you first."

"Jason, why are bossing your boyfriend so much, huh?" Danielle giggled, and Firestorm's face turned a light shade of pink.

 _"If I knew Ronnie and I were dating, I would've asked for dinner back in Honolulu,"_ Jason joked, practically embarasing Ronnie, _"Thanks for the suggestion, though. I'll be sure to ask him out when we get home."_

"As I was _**saying**._.." Firestorm spoke even louder, "I wanted you to come to South Korea with me. The Young Justice initiative has been authorized by Superman, and you've been chosen to be a part of the team."

"M-Me? On some superhero team?" Danielle was caught of guard, and she swore she felt her own heart stop, "Firestorm, don't play with me like that. You're gonna give me a heart attack."

"I'm serious, Dani. As long as you just say yes, you're on the team," Firestorm spoke calmly, "What do you say?"

They wanted her to be on the team? _The_ team? Danielle wanted to jump in the water and scream her lungs out, but she wasn't looking forward to drowning anytime soon. She nodded, not hesitating to agree.

"Yes! Of course! Firestorm, I've been waiting for this day to come!" she exclaimed, becoming excited, "When do you we go? I've already had a suitcase packed just in case I needed to leave home!"

* * *

 _ **20:00 PDT**_

 _ **Central City, Missouri**_

Dax went over the plans over and over again, not wanting to make a mistake like the last time. While Slade would be inside the building among the party goers, Dax was to remain on the roof, and when Ambassador Vyacheslav Petrov entered the building, Dax would ready the rifle. Once Vyacheslav took to the stage, the last thing he would see would be a crowd full of people, and Slade, who would be standing right there, watching as panic would unfold.

Dax would be responsible for this, but Slade would have an alibi, and witnesses would be there to clear his name, but only _if_ he were to be arrested.

Sitting on the roof, he waited for Slade to give him the greenlight. Dax examined the high powered sniper rifle in his hands, the name _Wilson_ etched into the barrel of the rifle. Inexperienced people would get a fractured collarbone if they weren't able to handle the power of Slade's rifle, but Dax believed he'd be able to control it. As long as he held it the right way, he wouldn't have any problems whatsoever.

As soon as his phone vibrated, Dax unlocked it, reading the text that Slade had sent him.

 _ **Money is in the bank. Be ready in five,**_ the text read, _**Make no mistakes.**_

Dax flipped himself over, and positioned the rifle, adjusting the scope. Vyacheslav's party was to celebrate the creation of a new community center, one aiming to help Metahumans affected by A.R.G.U.S and other personal issues. It took 7 years and over $6,000,000 to build, not to mention it was just a block or two away from STAR Labs.

Slade and Dax were hired by Anatoli Knyazev to take care of Vyacheslav, and all because the soon-to-be multi billionaire owed the Mafia over $9,000,000 in unpaid debt. If Vyacheslav wasn't dead by the time Anatoli turned to the news, Slade and Dax would be his next victims to hang in the meat cellar.

 _ **Two mins. Make this a clean shot.**_ Slade texted again.

Dax adjusted the scope once more, able to view the inside of the building thanks to its open windows. He took deep breaths, clearing his mind, readying himself for what was going to be a tense moment.

 ** _One min. You're $10,000,000 richer if you finish this._**

Reporters inside the building readied their cameras, including Iris West-Allen, who was with a news crew. Dax knew that if Iris was inside, the Flash wouldn't be far away. Ready to pull the trigger, Dax watched as Vyacheslav entered the main atrium, another man walking with him. This mysterious man was Joe West, the badge clipped to his belt visible for all to see.

No, something was wrong, and Dax was unsure about the whole thing.

Hold your fire. Detective West is in the building. I want you to hear this.

The earpiece in Dax's ear activated, linked to Slade's phone.

 _"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the opening of the Wally West Memorial Community Center!"_ Vyacheslav spoke, holding a glass of champagne, _"Thanks to donations from people across the country, this center was successfully built by the good people of Central City, and all in the memory of a young man whose efforts affected all of us. I would like to say this: it doesn't matter if A.R.G.U.S is an operation funded by the government, this building is a safezone for everyone; human, metahuman, atlantean, it doesn't matter. After talking with Central City's mayor, he has declared this center to be outside of A.R.G.U.S jurisdiction, and no search, detainment, or arrest warrant of theirs will work here."_

Dax's earpiece was overwhelmed by cheering, clapping, and whistling from the crowd.

 _"In less than a year or so, the empty lot next to us will be turned into a 7th through 12th grade school for everyone, not just the human population of this city. Tuition will be completely free, and thanks to support from so many people both online and offline, we're going to have some trouble naming the school,"_ Vyacheslav chuckled, _"Although, I have to admit it, I did like the suggestion to name it after a Mr. Henry Allen. Too many lives were lost the night villains from Earth-2 traveled to terrorize this city, but taking the life of an innocent man who spent nearly the rest of his life in prison, **and** for something he didn't do? That just wasn't right."_

Dax could see that Detective West wasn't exactly comfortable with Vyacheslav talking about such a topic.

 _"Now, without further ado, I'd like to introduce our possible first student- excuse me, possibly the **youngest** teacher of the new school, Tristan Anderson-Spencer!"_

Vyacheslav took a seat near the back of the stage, and a young man walked up to the podium, adjusting his green bow-tie. To Dax, he was no more than a preppy looking _geek._ He wore a tucked-in white dress shirt, recently-ironed khaki pants, and a pair of polished, black dress shoes. His short hair was black, and his green eyes stood out from his light brown skin.

 _"Hello, everyone. Like Vyacheslav just said, my name is Tristan Anderson-Spencer, and I am about to earn my degree in Botany,"_ he announced, _"After this new school is built, I might be teaching Biology, maybe an entirely different class focusing on plants, but that's months down the line."_

 ** _Ivy's here. We've got a problem._** Slade sent Dax another text, **_Don't shoot until I tell you to._**

 _"Even though I live all the way in Boston, it's possible that I might have to move down here, **if** I find an apartment less than a million dollars, of course," _Tristan sighed, amusing the crowd, _"I've already taken up too much time, so... I'll just go. It's time this center finally opened up to the public."_

Tristan left the stage, and Vyacheslav got back up, going up to the podium.

Before Dax could hear what the man was about to say next, his earpiece went off, and he felt a hand grab him by the collar of his armor. He was yanked up, back, and right into the roof's surface, dazed by the sudden impact.

"Y'move, y'die," a man spoke with a thick Australian accent, "What? Y'can't hear or somethin'? Don't even move your feet!"

Under his helmet, one similar, but very different from Slade's, Dax smirked. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the stranger by the throat, and pushed him back, throwing him right off the roof. Although, when Dax closed his eyes, he felt... funny, almost sick to his stomach. He opened his eyes, and found himself back where he was: on the roof surface, pinned down, but this time, the stranger forced his mask off, punched him right in the nose, and broke it.

"What the _**hell**_?" he groaned, and spat out a glob of blood, confused by what had just happened, "What _was **that**_?"

"Rule #1 of Lucky King's book: ya' don't tell secrets," the man said, teasing Dax, "Whaddya think you're doin', eh? I got $30,000 to stop ya' from hurtin' Mr. Petrov in there, and I ain't losin' it to some American who thinks he can be the new Deathstroke."

"Who do you think I'm working with on this mission, dumbass?!" Dax hissed, only to be punched again, and right in the left eye.

"Oof! That hurt me just by watchin'!" said the man, and he sat right on Dax's chest, "Y'know, ya' look familiar. I know you from somewhere or somethin'?"

"If I knew you, you would hate me entirely," Dax said through gritted, blood coated teeth, "Who are you with? A.R.G.U.S? Suicide Squad? Knyazev?"

"Nah, nope, and _maybe_ ," he replied, yawning under _his_ own helmet, "Name's Scar. Deadshot's favorite 'son', even though we're no way related, y'know. He ain't no Father figure, but he knows some stuff."

"You mean to tell me that you, some Australian **_bogan_ , **got Floyd Lawton to teach you all he knows? How do you say 'BS' in your country's slang?"

"Call me a bogan, and it's your head that's goin' in a bag, y'bloody mozzie!" Scar's heel jabbed Dax right in the ribcage, "Let's see ya' get back up this time. I'll make things worse for ya' next time, mate."

Some outgrown strands of Dax's dirty blonde hair were grabbed, and his head was bashed against the pavement, a puddle of blood forming.

 _ **Take the shot, Dax.**_ Slade messaged, _**TAKE THE SHOT.**_

Even though Dax couldn't see the phone, he could hear it vibrate. He bucked Scar off of him, and with force, hit him right in the head, knocking him out with ease. As soon as Dax saw the text, he grabbed his rifle, aimed at the building, and as Vyacheslav shook hands with Central City's mayor, he was just about to pull the trigger... but a seemingly knocked out Scar got himself up, and tackled Dax, who pulled that trigger last moment.

The bullet whizzed through the air, into the window, but instead of killing Vyacheslav, it only hit the man in the shoulder, going clean through tendons, muscles, bone, and blood vessels.

Everybody panicked, ducking and dodging for anymore possible bullets. Reporters scrambled, Detective West took Vyacheslav off the stage, and outside the center, Police, S.W.A.T, and paramedics were already on the scene.

"Well, would ya' look at that. The tall poppies got themselves backup already?" Scar spoke, distracted by the commotion, but a quick strike to the jaw was all it took to stun him, and a small, tiny piece of his tongue was nearly cut by his own teeth.

"Whoever you are, you really are some _bogan_ ," Dax groaned, wiping the blood from his mouth, "Since you've put me in between a good and bad mood, I'm bringing you downstairs with me, and if you so much as try that little trick of yours again, you're a dead Aussie."

"""""""""""

"Sir, you actually found him like this? In nothing but his _briefs_?" an EMT asked Dax, who had changed into his regular clothes, "Where was he exactly?"

"Janitor's closet. Somebody must've stolen the guy's clothes _and_ his dignity," Dax lied, carrying a backpack with his and Scar's things, "I feel bad for him, to be honest. I don't know what happened, but he needs some definite help, that's for sure."

"I don't need no... _halp_ ," Scar slurred, the morphine from an temporary IV drip affecting him in more ways than one, "Psh... callin' me a bogan. A **_bogan_**...? I'm comin' for ya... can't hide from me, that's for... sure."

"You're taking him to which hospital again?" Dax asked the EMT, who had to help lift Scar into the Ambulance.

"Central City Med," the EMT said, "You can drop of his stuff there, flowers optional."

Dax nodded, and the back doors of the ambulance closed. The sirens and lights turned on, and the Ambulance drove off, speeding towards its intended destination. Slade limped over to Dax, using a black cane for support, and his arm was placed in a sling. Age took a toll on the mercenary; even though his appearance had not yet changed, his body was under too much stress.

"I see you finished your _test,_ " Slade spoke to Dax, "And you got through the obstacle in your way."

"Wait- you mean to tell me there was-"

"No money? Of course not," said Slade, "Knyazev never paid us to do anything. He or the mafia never wanted money from Vyacheslav, let alone have him killed. The $10,000,000 isn't yours, but $40,000 is in your account."

"You _**lied**_ to me, Slade?" Dax became furious, but kept calm, not wanting to make a scene around the crowds of people, "Who was that guy, anyway? Some low life pretending to be all high and mighty?"

"Brandon King; an Australian Immigrant, former A.R.G.U.S prisoner and subject, but one hell of a fighter," Slade said, "Sure, he may have some unconventional ways to fighting and getting his way, but Deadshot trained him."

"I'm still in denial about that," Dax groaned, still holding the tissue to his nose, "Also, when you said Ivy was in the building, was she there for that botany kid?"

"Yes, yes she was," Slade said, nodding, "Tristan is her protege. He and Brandon will be your... teammates."

"A preppy and a bogan? You're serious?"

"Dead serious," Slade sighed, "There's one more person on the new team here. She's either with the security detail, or she's still recovering from that nasty gash on her head."

Dax pointed over to a young woman, who sat in the back of an ambulance. "Her?" he asked, "The girl in the red dress, right?"

"That's her," Slade said, having Dax follow him, "I'm sure you two already know each other, am I wrong?"

"She... does look familiar," said Dax, trying to remember where he saw her face, "Russia, maybe? I do remember meeting this one woman during the Murmansk Job, but that was a year ago."

"You'll know soon enough," said the mercenary, "Dax, this is Nastya Volkov. She's from Russia, but for her, there is no language barrier."

Nastya looked up, still holding an ice pack to her bandaged head. She wore a red, ankle-length dress, her high heels taken off and placed next to her. Her long black hair had been placed in a ponytail; even though she had taken her time to style it for the party, the original band snapped when she was pushed right into the doorway.

"Nastya? What kind of name is that?" Dax had the sudden urge to laugh, mocking Nastya, "You're kidding, right?"

"It's a nice name if your _pronounce it **right**_ ," Nastya growled, glaring at Dax, "Come to think of it, I remember you. You were that Дурак in the snow who refused to talk with Kuznetsov. He wasn't fond of people withholding intel from him."

"So you're the maid that stole my watch? Now I know _how_ Kuznetsov got it," Dax recalled the night he was beaten, tied up, and robbed in his own hotel room, "I had five broken ribs after that."

"At least you're alive _and_ walking," said Nastya, " _ **Unfortunately**_ , you're still able to talk."

* * *

 _ **18:00 ETZ**_

 _ **Lansing, Michigan**_

As mentioned before, El Dorado labs was home to imprisoned Metahumans, military experiments, biological weapons, and BLACKCORPS. Some of the escaped subjects went to the East, creating what BLACKCORPS called Hives, and inside each dormant Hive was a Matriarch or Patriarch, brain-dead drones, and monsters that were comparable to hellish demons.

One however, fled its Hive in Queens, and headed to Lansing, where it found refuge in the sewers.

 _Praedonius Venatorus_ was the creature's given scientific name, but _**Venator**_ was it's given nickname. Venators were an unholy mess of DNA strands, different mammals, and pack hunters. While they had no eyes, pinkish-red, slimy, muscle-exposed skin, sharp canines, and an almost gorilla-like body, they were as tough as Rhinos, as big as cars, and were easily influenced by an Alpha.

A Venator pack living in the abandoned, old Lansing Zoo, however, had no Alpha, so they roamed the zoo grounds, eating the small animals and people who dared to invade territory.

Unfortunately for a group of teens, they didn't know of the looming threat. They entered the Zoo anyway, careless, but eager to explore the abandoned establishment.

The group was from Jefferson High of Leesberg, Virginia, but two college-age students from Michigan State offered to go with the 10th through 12th graders, wanting to keep their city of Lansing from being sued for any accidents or mishaps.

Michael Danvers was one out of two 10th graders in the group. He was a native to Leesberg, born and raised in the city, so going to a place such as Michigan was new for him. He was tall for a 16 year older, 6'0" to be exact, and many questioned why he wasn't on the school's basketball team.

As cold as it was, he had to temporarily replace his leather jacket with a light parka, and underneath it, he wore a blue t-shirt, and he wished he had brought a long-sleeved one. His jeans were made of denim, the worn material barely keeping his legs warm; they were turning into _icicles_. His boots were meant for ice and snow, so if he were to go down a slope, the grip would be strong enough to hold him up.

"This is definitely different from the Leesberg Zoo," Isaiah, an 11th grader, used a flashlight to see inside of the old enclosures, "What lived in _there_?"

"Rocko the Tiger used to live in that enclosure," said Martin, the college Sophomore from Michigan State, "He grew to be the biggest tiger in the Western Hemisphere, but he died at the age of 28. They donated his body to the local museum."

"And if you listen closely, you can still hear him mooing for cow legs," Claire, the other (but _future_ ) college student, giggled, almost scaring a single 9th grader, "Seriously, though. If you go in here, you can hear _something._ "

Michigan State wasn't Claire's first college choice, Washington State was second on her list. She wanted to study law, and becoming an attorney for Metahumans Rights (yes, Metahuman Rights) would make a lot of people in the Metahuman haven of Michigan happy.

Like everybody else, she had to bundle up, wear warm clothes if she wanted to survive the Lansing cold. She wore a knee-length, black coat, and luckily for her, the padding on the inside was 'freeze-proof', just like the label had said. She had her coat zipped up all the way to her neck, and she had a brown scarf in her pocket just in case. Even though she found the right shoes to go with her black, slim-fit pants, dress shoes weren't exactly good for a place with _ice._

Martin, apparently, thought it was a good idea to tell Claire that it was a trip to the Michigan History Center.

"So, don't go in Rocko's enclosure?" Michael asked, curious to know what was so dangerous about the place.

"Exactly," Claire said, "If we hurry up, we can check out the Wolf Pit. It's the fifth biggest enclosure in the entire zoo, but 12-hour rent-a-cop comes through here at this time."

The group hurried towards the wolf pit, but all were careful not to slip, fall, and possibly break a bone or damage any internal organs.

The wolf pit was indeed the fifth largest enclosure in the zoo, and it used to be the home of over 10 wolves; 8 of them were transferred from the Seattle Zoo, and the rest were born in Lansing. After the zoo was shut down, the wolves were taken to Washington, where they were put in a newly built, free-roam sanctuary meant for wolves _and_ wolf-dogs.

To keep it short: they absolutely loved their new home in the cool, lush area of Hakansbridge, where they could eat all the Moose and Elk meat they wanted.

When the group reached the pit, they saw what remained of it's former inhabitants. A worn out tire, chew toys, bones from thrown-in animal carcasses, and dens for the wolves to rest inside of. The water from the fake falls were still running, pouring down into a river, which went down into the sewers. The tall grass was mostly brittle and brown, but some strands remained green, and the bent trees roots dug so deep, that they fed from the underground water supply itself.

"This place is huge!" Joseph, a 12 grader, exclaimed with joy, leaning over the railing, "Can we go down there?"

"Do you _want_ to _**die**_?" Martin asked, "Who knows what's lurking down there. I heard there's aliens living in the sewers, and when they come up, they come to eat the squirrels and rabbits that get trapped in the pit."

"What? There's no way that's true," Michael said, not believing in such a rumor, "Why don't you go down there, Martin? You can prove it, right?"

"I'm no Fox Mulder, man. I'm not getting myself killed, even if it's for something I _want_ to believe in," Martin argued, only to be nudged in the ribs by Claire's elbow.

"If you go, I'll ask Carson if he can get you into a Frat house," Claire said, trying to convince Martin.

"F-Fine. Only if you ask him _before_ school starts again," Martin groaned, looking for the ladder to get down into the pit, "C-Can somebody go with me?"

Michael agreed to go with Martin, but in the back of his mind, he wondered how much of a wimp this guy really was, or if he was trying to scare everybody into running back to the hotel. Either way, Michael had something for this guy, that was for sure.

"Um... there's nothing here," Martin muttered, walking out near the river, "Nothing here, guys! I'm gonna check out the-"

Michael stomped his foot once, creating a tremor that shook the entire pit, but not the zoo. He spooked Martin, who was about to run away screaming, but stayed anyway, a look of fear clear on his face.

"You okay, Marty? Do you need me to call your Mom?" Claire teased, getting everybody with her to laugh.

"No way! Keep my Mom out of this!" Martin shouted back, and when he heard the ground rumble underneath, he started to shake and shiver.

This time, however, Michael wasn't the one to cause this.

He became worried as well, imagining what was crawling in the sewers. Maybe Martin was right? Aliens? Or was it something entirely man-made, almost **_inhuman_**?

Bursting from the sewer gates, a Venator stood proudly, walking on all fours; two, enormous, clawed, giant hands, and two hind legs packed with power for 10 foot leaps. Soon, five more came out from the sewers, sniffing the air, all focused on the two in the pit.

Venators may have had no eyes, but they were like bats, using echolocation, sound, and scent to track whoever dared to trespass.

"See? I told you! Aliens!" Martin shouted, hiding right behind Michael, "Come on, let's get the hell out of here!"

They bolted for the ladder, and the Venators chased after them, the abominations pouncing for the kill. While Michael avoided what could've been certain death, Martin was tackled, his leg grabbed by a bigger Venator. He screamed as the claws dug into his right leg, and his fingers dug into the ground, trying to stop the Venator from dragging him back into the sewers.

"Help me!" he shouted at Michael, " _ **HELP!**_ "

Michael, knowing he couldn't leave Martin behind, jumped down from the ladder, and collided with the Venator below, forcing him off Martin.

The Venators retreated somewhat, but they all stood their ground, baring their elongated teeth in defiance.

"Marty!" Claire slid down the ladder, going to help her friend. He sobbed as his leg bled profusely, turning his pants a horrible shade of darkened red. There was no way for him to get back up the ladder, and taking the stairs? _What stairs?_ There were no stairs in the pit at all.

The one Venator lunged for Michael, and with his fist, he hit the creature right in its slimy snout, causing shockwaves, and sending the Venator flying into the wall. It shook its head, quickly recovered, and fled into the sewer, afraid to come out. The others, however, remained, all focused on Michael and Michael only.

"Guys, stay up there!" Michael shouted up to the group, "Stay still! These things can see you move!"

Everybody wanted to just go back to the hotel, but if they ran, the Venators would see them, and they'd all be dead within seconds of each other.

Claire set a crying Marty against the wall, making sure he'd listen and _stay_ for once. She looked at the Venators, watching them closely, seeing how they moved. When she was little, she and her family would come to see the wolves, and she'd watch their movements.

She knew these _things_ were pack animals, all following each other, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

 _Just great_ , she thought, _They're like wolves **and** hyenas; they're opportunists, too_.

The five left all attacked, razor sharp claws scraping the ground as they pounced. A bright flash of white light overwhelmed the three in the pit, and once the light faded, a giant, blue, glowing arm took the place of Claire's, and the Venators were stuck in the air, as if they were frozen in time. The arm threw them down, and the Venators were un-frozen, all dazed, dizzy, but once again, and like the bigger Venator, they recovered.

All five cornered the three, easily outnumbering them. But, a whistle from the sewers attracted the pack hunters, and a man walked out of the sewer tunnel, blackish-red aura emanating from around him. Michael and Claire could barely see the figure, but whatever he was doing, he was calming the Venators.

They seemed to purr, chortle, and whine, comforted by the stranger. The pack followed each other, and when the man disappeared back into the shadows, the Venators disappeared into the tunnel as well, the chaotic noises replaced by the sound of rushing water, wind blowing through the trees, and, of course, Martin's sobs for his Mother.

"""""""""""

The group waited in the hospital waiting room, all wondering if Martin was out of surgery yet. As soon as they got to the car, it was Claire who had to speed down the streets, start what could have turned into a serious police pursuit, rush Martin into the Emergency Room of Sparrow Hospital, and call his Mom about what had happened.

The hospital called Martin's Mom, Mrs. Boulos, quite a few times, but she never answered.

"Excuse me, Ms. Laurent?" Doctor Calderón, Martin's surgeon, walked into the waiting room, "Martin's out of surgery. He's lost almost half of his blood supply, and if it wasn't for you quick thinking, he would've bled out if you had gotten here a minute late."

"Oh, thank _god_ ," Claire could finally breathe, "Is he awake? Can we see him?"

"He's in some pain, and we just hooked him up to a morphine drip. You guys might have to wait until morning," said Calderón, "If you want, you can still see him. Just remember to keep your voices low, okay?"

While the rest of the group stayed in the waiting room, Michael and Claire followed Calderón out of the room, and into the hall. They walked by men in layers of tough, battle-ready, navy blue armor, as if they were going to war. They carried high powered guns, as if they were going to shoot somebody on sight.

"Those are BLACKCORPS agents. They came here as soon as your friend showed up," Calderón said, "They're down at the old zoo, too. I don't know why BLACKCORPS decided to show up in Lansing. Nothing exciting really happens here, let alone what they call a 'containment failure'."

The two remained silent, knowing exactly why BLACKCORPS was there at the zoo.

Doctor Calderón opened the door, an he allowed Michael and Claire to enter Martin's room. The whirs of machines and the pings of the heart monitor were steady, barely disturbing Martin, who was still in distress. His leg had been wrapped in gauze, and carefully placed in a sling, bars from a vice holding the leg in place.

"Mr. Boulos? You have some visitors," Calderón spoke softly, "I'll let you two stay for a minute or two. It's a little dangerous to stay without raising suspicion with BLACKCORPS. I'd hate for you and your friends to get into trouble."

Calderón closed the door as he left. Michael grabbed a chair for Claire, and took another chair from the wall, both sitting next to Martin's hospital bed.

"Hey, Marty?" Claire said, hoping her friend was still okay, "How are you doing? Is the leg feeling any better?"

"It... it isn't gone?" Martin asked, unable to move his neck, which had been placed in a brace.

"Nope. It's still there," Michael replied, "Your big toe is sticking out, too."

"Well, don't try an tickle it... that'll only hurt me," said Martin, "Is Mom here yet? I wanna see my Mom."

"We tried calling her a ton of times, but she just won't answer. She's not out of town, is she?" Claire became curious to know what happened to Mrs. Boulos.

"She was supposed to come back from Grandpa's yesterday. I don't know where else she would be... I just want my Mom here, man. Is that so hard to **ask** for?" Martin became frantic, the rate on his heart monitor increasing.

"Martin, just-" before Claire could finish her sentence, a man knocked at the door, and he entered anyway, despite nobody allowing him inside.

"Uh, excuse me?" Clark spoke up, a camera around his neck, "Sorry to disturb you. I'm Clark Kent from the Daily Planet. I was wondering if you guys had the time to talk?"

At first, Martin wanted to press the remote in his hand to call the nurse, but he allowed Clark inside the room, simply waving for him to come in.

"I heard about what happened to you, Mr. Boulos. I was in town to cover a college football game, but all the BLACKCORPS activity led me to the zoo, then to this hospital," said Clark, "Can I get a picture? It's for the paper."

"Me? On the front cover of the Daily Planet newspaper? Go right ahead..." Martin calmed down, "Can you get my good side? This side of my face is pretty banged up."

Clark, turning on the flash, took quite a few photos, knowing he would have to edit them later.

Although, while taking the pictures, Clark frowned, noticing something wrong with Martin.

"If it's okay, can I speak with you guys outside?" Clark asked Claire and Michael, "Just for a minute."

Reluctant at first, they got up, both reassuring Martin that they would be back. Walking outside into the hall, Clark waited until most of the BLACKCORPS soldiers were out of earshot from their conversation.

"Right... how do I say this?" Clark started talking, nervous to admit what he discovered about Martin, "Your friend's appendix completely burst."

"Wait a minute, what?!" Clair was in shock, only to be shushed by Michael and Clark.

"With all the morphine they're giving him, he can barely feel the pain of it. And even if he does, he thinks the pain is coming from his leg," said the reporter, "That leg of his might take more than a few weeks to heal, too. It's going to take at least months for it to heal, and a year until he can put energy back into those muscles and tendons."

"Calderón lied to us, then? He said Martin would make a full recovery in two weeks," Michael doubted Clark's ability to know what was happening with Martin's system.

"Trust me, I know what I'm talking about," said Clark, taking his glasses off, "These eyes haven't failed me before, and they won't anytime soon."

"You look... familiar," Michael muttered, and thanks to doing research oh so many years ago, he recognized the 'reporter', "Superman?" he kept his voice low, "You look-"

"Like a normal, everyday journalist with a $220 a week job? I know," Clark chuckled, "Claire Laurent and Michael Danvers, right? I know Detective Danvers from the A.T.T.O.C/A.R.G.U.S incident. It took a lot of Canadian-American forces to put the second Darkseid back in his Earth-2 universe."

"I watched the whole thing on TV," Michael recalled that fateful day, "It was pretty intense. You could hear the gunfire from where I was!"

"That was gunfire from one of Green Lantern's creations," said Clark, "To be honest with you, I did come here from a football game, and to cover this story. I also came here to give you some news, too. After watching both of you carefully, receiving reports from a friend of mine in the Watchtower, talking to the Danvers Family, and having someone get into A.R.G.U.S files, I think the both of you would be great on the new Young Justice team."

"So, you're telling me- I mean, the both of us, that we'd be great for Young Justice? _The_ Young Justice?" Claire asked, eyes widening, "Michael, you have a tape recorder on you? I need to hear a playback of what Superman just told us."

"I wish I had one right n-now..." Michael stuttered, "Su- Clark, you're serious?"

"If I wasn't serious, I wouldn't be here," said the journalist, "So, what do you say? You don't have to go if you don't want to."

While Claire was still in shock, Michael spoke up with his answer.

"When do we start?" he asked.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Interestingly enough, this story takes place in 2025. Wow, I will be a boring-as-all-heck adult by then. _

_**Save me from my future life**._

 _Hey, it's Karmaisms! Finally, finally, fINALLY, I managed to finish this. This is the first chapter in which I had to write a total of 21,000+ words! You can definitely see the proof if you look at the word count for this story, and how it jumped by over... let's just say by over %600 percent._

 _I don't know if I'm over estimating it, but it seems like a very good number._

 _So... subplots, main plots, future story lines! For your information, and the Pantheon and BLACKCORPS will be in some chapters, and in future chapters focusing on the two groups. I have to thank Jamie McKelvie and a recent Egyptology course in school for giving me the 'Egyptian Pantheon' idea; just imagine all those gods and goddesses in the real world, but having to deal with Seth's bullsh*t and whatnot._

 _There shall be chaos with him._

 _Lot's of good chaos._

 _With BLACKCORPS, that was an idea I got from *cough cough* playing games such as Deus Ex, watching movies in which the military quarantines entire cities, and because of a certain OC submitted by a friend of Luigi the Dawn. I thought that day, "What if there was this super secret military that worked with El Dorado labs? What would happen?"_

 _A good idea happened, that's what._

 _So, the two teams are Young Justice and Young Injustice. The main antagonist is A.R.G.U.S, possible pro or antagonistic groups are the Pantheon and BLACKCORPS... maybe some threats from outer space, too. But one other thing, characters and story lines from Suicide Squad and Assault on Arkham._

 _Okay, enough of my talking... Here is the roster for the accepted characters!_

* * *

 **YOUNG JUSTICE**

Soo-Yun Song | **Riptide**

Jayci Black | **Zuse**

Alec Proctor | **Android  
**

Danielle Kane | **Pele**

Nathan North | **Apex  
**

Claire Laurent | **Peace** **Walker**

Michael Danvers | **Tremors**

Ryan Garrison | **Crimson Inquisitor**

 **YOUNG INJUSTICE**

Dax Donovan | **Ghost**

Tristan Anderson-Spencer | **Mandrake**

Einam Ward | **Alpha  
**

Kahotep Khaldun | **Seth  
**

Nastya Volkov | **Belladonna**

Bowen Attwood | **Haze**

Mira Jones | **Neith**

Brandon King | **Scar**

* * *

 _And someone I had read this as an early preview (this person wasn't on , but a real life 'friend', whose name I will not reveal) actually asked me this, "Will most of the Pantheon be... you know, white?" I have this to say: Egyptians were not white. Nope. Nada. Without melanin, they'd turn red. Some members of the Pantheon will either be Black or Mixed._

 _Gods of Egypt and Exodus can **suck eggs**._

 _Anyway, thanks to those who submitted characters! And a special shoutout to Luigi, who actually (and kind of) kept reminding me to get back to writing! I didn't want to make a 'you're not my mOM' joke, but I'm going to anyway._

 _ **you're not my mOM**._

 _It's going to be another few weeks or so before another chapter will be published, and I really need to rest my fingers. 21,000+ words written... another god-knows-how-many left to do._

 _A word of warning to those whose OCs have been accepted: people will be hurt, beaten, bloodied, bruised, and go through some psychological torture if I introduce Scarecrow to this story. If I end up putting Scarecrow in this (plus the language is an issue as well) I just might have to put the rating up to an **M**! Because we all know stuff can get scary when dealing with Scarecrow._

 _DC was meant to be for young and old adults, not just kids (except for the unholy abomination known as Teen Titans Go)_

 _But, before I go, quick questions to those reviewing!  
_

 _1: who was your favorite character(s) so far?/what was your favorite part of the chapter?_

 _2: what canon DC character would you like to see?_

 _3: (just for fun) **heath ledger joker** or **jared leto joker**?_

 _Goodnight (or good morning, hello for some) and good luck with school... if you're even starting school._

 _ **-Karmaisms**_


End file.
